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iiiilii 


THE 


QUARTERLY   REVIEW. 


VOL.  143. 


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PUBLISHED  IN 


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L  OND  ON: 


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URRAY,  ALBEMARLE  STREET. 
1877. 


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•    •  •    «    V 


X004 11 


•  •  •  •  I 


•  •  • 


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•  ■  ■ 


LONDON: 
PHBtvd  by  WnLUM  Cuma  and  Sion,  Duke  Street,  SUmford  Street, 

and  Charing  CroM. 


CONTENTS 


OF 

No.  285. 


Art.  Page 

I. — Letters  and  Papers,  Foreign  and  Domestic,  of  the  Roign 
of  Henry  "VTII.  Arranged  and  Catalogued  by  J.  S. 
Brewer,  M.A.  Vol.  IV.  Introduction  and  Appendix. 
London,  1875  -        -        -        --        -        -        -1 

U. — 1.  Eongs-Skugg-sio.     Soiii,  1768, 

2.  Speculum  Eegalc.     Cbristiania,  1848       -         -        -     51 

1 1 1. — Principles  of  Mental  Physiology,  with  their  applications 
to  the  Training  and  Discipline  of  the  Mind,  and  the 
study  of  its  Morbid  Conditions.  By  William  B. 
Carpenter,  F.R.S.,  C.B.    London,  1875     -        -        -    83 

IV. — 1.  Papers  relative  to  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  presented 
to  Parliament,  1835-1875. 
2.  History  of  the  Colony  of  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope, 
from  its  discovery  to  the  year  1868.  By  A.  Wilmot, 
Esq.,  and  the  Hon.  John  Centlivres  Chase.  Capo 
Town,  1869 106 

V. — 1.  Papers  and  Correspondence  relating  to  the  Equip- 
ment and  Fitting- out  of  the  Arctic  Expedition  of 
1875 ;  including  the  Beport  of  the  Admiralty  Arctic 
Committee.  Presented  to  both  Houses  of  Parliament, 
1875. 
And  other  Works        -        -        -        -        -        -         -146 

VI. —  Macaulay's  Essay  on  Milton  ;  Addison's  Essays  on  Para- 
dise Lost;  Johnson's  Life  of  Milton;  Milton  et  le 
Paradis  Perdu  in  Etudes  Critiques  de  Litt^raturc. 
Par  Edmond  Scherer.     Paris,  1876  -        -        -        -  186 

Vn. — Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism :  Lectures  delivered  at 
the  Royal  Institution  of  Great  Britain  in  February 
and  March,  1874.  By  R.  Bosworth  Smith,  M.A. 
2nd  Edition,  revised  and  enlarged.    London,  1876     -  205 

VIII. — 1.  Promenade  autour  du  Monde,  1871.  Par  M.  le  Baron 
de  Hiibner,  Ancicn  Auibassadeur,  Ancien  Ministrc, 
Auteur  de  '  Sixte  Quint.'  Cinqniome  Edition,  illustr^e 
de  316  gravures,  dessinees  sur  bois  par  nos  plus  c61e- 
bres  artistes.     Paris,  1877. 


IT  OONTENTS. 

ABT.  Page 

2.  A  Hamble  Bound  the  World,  &c.  Translated  by 
Ladj  Herbert  of  Lea.  London.  In  Two  Yolmnes, 
1874 238 

rX. — 1.  Parliamentary  Papers.     Turkey,  1876. 

2.  A  Handy  Book  of  the  Eastern  Question ;  being  a  very 
recent  View  of  Turkey.  By  Sir  Georgo  Campbell, 
M.P.    London,  1876. 

3.  Eussia  before  Europe.  By  Alfred  Austin.  London, 
1876. 

4.  England's  Policy  in  tbo  East     By  the  Baron  Henry 

de  Worms.    London,  1877 27G 


DIBE9TIONS  TO  THE  BINDER. 

Page 
Hap  of  the  Arctic  Region to /ace  155 

Hap  exhibiting  the  difference  between  the  American  and 

EngllBh  Charts ,,      172 


Note  ok  No.  284. 

We  desire  to  correct  two  mistakes  in  the  preceding  number.  It  is 
stated  on  p.  898  that '  St  George's  Hospital  has  closed  its  out-door 
department.'     We  are  informed  that  such  is  not  the  case. 

On  p.  410,  the  authorship  of  the  work  '  Eight  Months  at  Rome 
during  the  Vatican  Council,  by  Pomponio  Lcto,'  is  ascribed  to  the 
late  Cardinal  Yitelleschi;  but  we  haye  recciyed  a  letter  from  his 
brother,  the  Marquis  Yitelleschi,  stating  that  the  Cardinal  had  neither 
directly  nor  indirectly  anything  to  do  with  its  composition,  and  did 
not  eyen  see  it  till  after  its  publication. 


CONTENTS 

or 

No.  286. 


Art.  Page 

I. — Tbe  Works  of  Alexander  Pope.  New  Edition.  In- 
cluding seyeral  .hundred  unpiiblislied  letters*  and 
other  new  materials,  collected  in  part  by  the  late 
Et.  Hon.  John  Wilson  Croker.  With  Introduction 
and  Notes.  By  Eev.  Whitwell  Elwin.  Poetry, 
Vols.  I.,  II.  London,  1871.  Correspondence,  Vols. 
I.,  11^  in.    London,  1871, 1872    -        -        -        -  321 

II. — The  Life  of  Heniy  John  Temple,  Viscount  Palmerston, 
1846-1866.  By  the  Hon.  Evelyn  Ashley,  M.P. 
2  Vols.    London,  1876 361 

III. — 1.  Le  Livre  de  Cuisine.  Par  Jules  Gou£fc,  comprenant 
la  'Cuisine  de  Manage'  et  la  'Grande  Cuisine,* 
ayec  25  planches  imprimis  en  chromo-lithographie, 
et  161  yignettes  sur  bois.     Paris,  1867. 

2.  L*Art  do  la  Cuisine  Fran^aise  au  Dix-neuvieme 
Siecle.  Traite  ^l^mentaire  et  pratique,  suivi  de  Dis- 
sertations Culinaires  et  Gastronomiques,  utiles  aux 
progres  de  cet  Art.  Par  M.  Antonin  Carbme.  Paris, 
1833. 

3.  Modern  Domestic  Cookery.  By  a  Lady.  A  new 
edition,  based  on  the  Work  of  Mrs.  Bundell.  245th 
Thousand.     London,  1865. 

4.  Cuisine  de  Tons  les  Pays:  Etudes  Cosmopolites, 
ayec  220  dessins  composes  pour  la  demonstration. 
Par  Urbain  Dubois,  chef  de  cuisine  de  leurs  Majcstes 
Boyales  de  Prusse.     Paris,  1868. 

And  other  Works o79 

IV.— History  of  English  Thought  in  the  Eighteenth  Century. 

By  Leslie  Stephen.    London.     2  vols.     1876  -  404 

V. — Histoire  de  Ma  Vie.    Par  George  8and.     Nouyelle 

edition.     Paris,  1876 423 

VI. — 1.  Russia.  By  D.  Mackenzie  Wallace,  MA.,  Member 
of  the  Imperial  Eussian  Geographical  Society. 
London,  2  yols.  8yo. 


IT  CONTENTS. 

Abt.  Pag< 

2.  Eeports  on  Land  Tenure  in  Bossia,  by  T.  Michell, 
H.6.M.  Consul  at  St.  Petersburg;  in  the  Reports 
from  Her  Majesty's  Eepresentatiyes  respecting  the 
Tenure  of  Land  in  the  several  Countries  of  Euro]>e. 
c.  75.     Parliamentary  Papers,  1869-1870. 

3.  Early  Eussian  History.  Four  Lectures  delivered 
at  Oxford.  By  W.  R.  S.  Ralston,  M.A.,  &c.  &c. 
London,  1875. 

4.  Murray's  Handbook  for  Travellers  in  Russia,  Poland, 
and  Finland.    Third  edition,  revised.  London,  1875    44S 

VII. — Harriet  Martineau's  Autobiography.  With  Memorials 
by  Maria  Weston  Chapman.  In  Three  Volumes. 
London,  1877    • 484 

VIII. — 1.  Le  Droit  International  Codi£^.  Par  M.  Bluntschli, 
Docteur  en  Droit,  Professeur  Ordinaire  h.  TUniversite 
d'Heidelberg,  &c.  Traduit  de  TAUemand  par  M.  C. 
Lardy.  Paris,  1870. 
2.  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  International  Law.  By 
Theodore  D.  Woolsey,  President  of  Yale  College. 
Second  Edition.    New  York,  1869  -        -        -        -  626 

IX. — 1.  Turkistan:  Notes  of  a  Journey  in  Russian  Turkistan, 
Ehokand,  Bokhara,  and  Euldja.  By  Eugene  Schuyler. 
London.     2  vols.,  1876. 

2.  A  Ride  to  Khiva  :  Travels  and  Adventures  in  Central 
Asia.  By  Fred.  Bumaby,  Captain  Royal  Horse 
Guards.     London,  1876. 

3.  Campaigning  on  the  Oxus.  By  J.  MacGahan. 
London,  1874. 

4.  Shores  of  Lake  Aral.  By  Major  Wood,  R.E.  London, 
1876. 

5.  Clouds  in  the  East :  Travels  and  Adventures  on  the 
Perso-Turkoman  Frontier.  By  Valentine  Baker. 
London,  1876 551 

X. — 1.  Parliamentary  Papers.  Turkey,  No.  I.  (1877).   Cor- 
respondence respecting  the  Affairs  of  Turkey,  1876. 
Turkey,  No.  II.  (1877).     Correspondence  re^)ecting 
the  Conference  at  Constantinople  and  the  Affairs  of 
Turkey,  1876-1877. 

2.  Protocol  relative  to  the  Affiedrs  of  Turkey,  signed  at 
London,  March  31st,  1877. 

3.  Substance  of  a  Speech  delivered  in  the  House  of 
Lords  (February  26th,  1877.)  By  Earl  Grey.  Lon- 
don, 1877. 

4.  England's  Duty  in  the  Eastern  Difficulty  :  a  Lecture 
delivered,  December  23rd,  1876.  By  Professor  J.  L. 
Porter.    London,  1876 573 


THE 


QUARTERLY    REVIEW. 


Abt.  I. — Letters  and  Papers^  Foreign  and  Domestic^  of  the 
Reign  of  Henrg  VIIL  Arranged  and  Catalogued  by  J.  S. 
Brewer,  M. A.  V^ol.  IV.  Introduction  and  Appendix.  London, 
1875. 

HALF  a  century  ago  a  writer  of  great  authority  delivered  the 
opinion  that  few  things  in  history  were  better  known  than 
the  divorce  of  Catharine  of  Aragon.  Since  that  time  the 
archives  have  been  explored,  and  the  old  story  which  satisfied 
Hallam  will  never  be  told  again.  Mr.  Brewer  has  done  more 
than  any  other  man  to  dispel  the  dark  tradition,  and  to  pour 
light  upon  an  epoch  which  will  always  interest  every  description 
of  educated  men.  After  all  that  has  been  already  gathered  from 
Rome  and  Venice  and  Simancas,  from  Brussels  and  Vienna, 
his  volume  on  the  last  and  most  momentous  years  of  Wolsey's 
ministry  embraces  seven  thousand  letters,  of  which  a  large  pro- 
portion are  important  and  new.  The  most  competent  of  his 
foreign  critics.  Dr.  Pauli,  reviewing  the  earlier  part  of  the 
Calendar,  declared  that  no  other  country  possesses  a  work  so 
satisfactory  and  complete ;  and  this  is  not  exaggerated  praise, 
although  even  Mr.  Brewer  s  analysis  cannot  be  accepted  as  a 
substitute  for  the  full  text  of  documents.  He  has  not  aimed  so 
high ;  and  his  readers  will  not  seldom  find  that  there  is  some- 
thing still  to  learn  in  earlier  and  humbler  publications. 

If  the  Calendar  does  not  utterly  supersede  all  previous  col- 
lections, the  introduction  in  which  Mr.  Brewer  has  gathered  up 
the  innumerable  threads,  and  has  woven  them  into  a  consistent 
picture,  so  far  surpasses  all  former  narratives  of  the  same  events 
as  to  cause  regret  that  he  has  not  chosen  rather  to  write  a  life 
of  Wolsey,  which  everybody  would  have  read,  than  to  bury  the 
fruit  of  so  much  study  in  prefaces  to  bulky  and  not  very 
accessible  volumes.  With  little  additional  labour  he  would 
have  enjoyed  greater  freedom  in  the  management  of  .materials 
and  in  the  use  of  colour,  and  literature  would  have  been  endowed 

Vol.  143.— iVo.  985.  B  with 


2  Wolsey  and  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIIL : 

with  a  popular  masterpiece.  Mr.  Brewer  has  thought  it  a  dul 
to  devote  the  whole  of  his  accumulated  knowledge  and  pow< 
to  the  public  work  which  has  occupied  so  large  a  portion  of  h 
life.  So  few  men  are  capable  of  extracting  for  themselves  an 
digesting  all  the  information  his  Calendar  contains,  that  tl 
elaborate  introductions  by  the  editor  add  immeasurably  to  i 
permanent  utility  and  value.  But  it  is  impossible  not  to  fe 
and  to  regret  the  generosity  of  so  great  a  sacrifice. 

Many  of  the  problems  that  have  agitated  and  perplexed  te 
generations  of  men  are  still  unsolved.  Yet,  although  we  hai 
not  reached  the  fulness  of  knowledge  that  sates  curiosity,  it : 
not  likely  that  much  more  will  be  learnt.  Some  progress  ma 
be  looked  for  in  biography;  for  the  early  lives  of  Gardine 
Tunstall,  and  Cromwell  have  not  been  studied;  nobody  ht 
taken  the  pains  to  restore  the  true  text  of  the  original  Life  < 
Fisher;  and  not  one  of  More's  fifteen  biographers  has  worke 
from  manuscripts.  The  Vatican  continues  to  yield  pricelej 
additions  to  the  works  of  Kaynaldus,  of  Theiner,  and  of  Lan 
mer ;  part  of  the  correspondence  of  Charles  V.  lies  unused  j 
Brussels ;  and  the  papers  of  Campeggio  may  yet,  perhaps,  I 
found  in  the  place  where  Sigonius  saw  them.  But  whatever  tl 
future  may  reveal,  we  now  possess,  in  Mr.  Brewer's  pages,  a 
account  of  the  Divorce,  to  the  fall  of  Wolsey,  which  is  eminent! 
trustworthy  and  intelligible. 

That  which  distinguishes  the  whole  reign  of  Henry  VIIl 
both  in  Wolsey 's  happier  days  and  during  the  riotous  tyranr 
of  later  years,  the  idea  of  treating  ecclesiastical  authority  not  i 
an  obstruction,  but  as  a  convenient  auxiliary  to  the  Crown,  w] 
anticipated  by  the  example  of  his  father-in-law  Ferdinand.  Tl 
Korman  conquerors  of  Sicily  established  a  form  of  governmei 
in  which  the  spiritual  power  was  more  completely  subdued  by  tl 
civil  than  in  any  other  place  beyond  the  Byzantine  boundar 
In  the  struggle  for  the  inheritance  of  the  Suabian  emperors,  tl 
Sicilians  resisted  for  centuries  the  anathemas  and  the  arms 
Rome,  and  the  kings  of  the  House  of  Aragon  maintained  then 
selves  in  defiance  of  excommunications  which  were  almost  pe 
petual,  and  of  an  interdict  which  lasted  seventy  years.  In 
country  which  had  endured  ecclesiastical  isolation  so  long,  tl 
Papacy  could  not  recover  its  influence  when  the  dynastic  stri 
was  ended.  The  Kings  of  Sicily  acknowledged  no  superic 
but  exercised  all  jurisdiction  themselves,  allowing  no  appeal 
and  holding  under  strict  control  the  intercourse  betwei 
Rome  and  the  Church  within  the  island.  This  system  of  u 
divided  power,  consolidated  and  codified  under  Ferdinand  tl 
Catholic,  became  known  by  the  significant  designation  of  tl 

Sicilif 


Mr.  Brewer  5  Calendar  of  State  Papers,  3- 

Sicilian  Monarchy.  It  was  established  without  a  conflict,  and 
without  ostensibly  derogating  from  the  papal  dignity,  by  the 
instmmentality  of  the  fiction  that  the  King  was,  in  his  own 
dominions,  hereditary  Legate  of  the  Pope.  The  combination  of 
l^tine  authority  with  the  highest  political  office  in  the  person 
of  Wolsey  was  an  expedient  that  bore  close  practical  resem- 
blance to  this  institution. 

It  was  in  1515  that  Ferdinand  proclaimed  himself  the  virtual 
head  both  of  Church  and  State  in  Sicily — cujus  tarn  in  spirituali- 
hu  quam  in  temporalibus  curam  gerimus.  In  the  following  year 
Henry  VIII.  demanded  that  Leo  X.  would  appoint  his  favourite 
minister  Legate  a  latere.  For  three  years  he  made  the  demand 
in  Tain.  It  was  granted  at  length,  and  the  appointment  was 
justly  described  as  the  keystone  of  the  Cardinal's  position. 
Henry  had  too  much  of  the  instinct  and  of  the  passion  of  power 
to  surrender  willingly  the  advantage  which  it  gave  him.  That 
advantage  could  be  preserved  only  by  close  union  with  Rome, 
or  by  the  exclusion  of  its  authority.  The  intimate  alliance  with 
the  Papacy  through  every  vicissitude  of  political  fortune  which 
i«  characteristic  of  Wolsey's  administration,  actually  prepared 
the  way  for  separation  after  his  disgrace.  It  was  so  essential  an 
element  in  his  scheme  of  government  that  it  was  not  disturbed 
when  Henry  imputed  to  Leo,  and  bitterly  resented,  his  failure 
to  obtain  the  Imperial  crown. 

The  elevation  of  his  rival,  the  King  of  Spain,  suddenly  raised 
England  to  an  important  position  in  the  politics  of  Europe. 
An  auction  began,  at  which  Francis  I.  sought  to  purchase  her 
Wendship  with  gold ;  whilst  Charles  V.  not  only  offered  the 
s^e  sums  as  his  competitor,  but  increase  of  territory  at  hi& 
competitor's  expense.  France  was  still  our  hereditary  enemy. 
England  remembered  that  an  English  King  had  been  crowned 
in  the  French  capital ;  and  Calais  was  an  irritating  memorial 
of  the  lost  inheritance,  and  of  conquests  that  had  ended  in  defeat 
The  nation  adopted  with  joy  the  alliance  with  the  House  of 
Burgundy,  and  Parliament  voted  supplies  for  war  against 
France. 

To  make  sure  of  Wolsey,  Charles  promised  that  he  should  be 
JJiade  Pope  ;  and  the  compact  was  scarcely  concluded  when  the 
^  of  Rome  fell  vacant.  The  Cardinal  summoned  the  Emperor 
^  employ  his  army  in  securing  his  election.  Charles  assured 
*^  that  he  would  not  shrink  from  force  if  it  was  needed  ;  but  the 
choice  of  the  conclave  fell  so  speedily  on  Adrian  VI.  that  his 
sincerity  was  not  tested.  Wolsey  waited,  without  discourage- 
ment, for  another  chance.  In  less  than  two  years  Adrian  died, 
^d  Wolsey  was  again  a  candidate.      His  ambition  was  not 

B  2  unreasonable. 


4  Wolsey  and  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIIL : 

unreasonable.  He  was  the  foremost  of  ecclesiastics  and  of 
statesmen ;  and  it  had  been  said  of  him  long  since  that  he  was 
seven  times  greater  than  the  Pope.  In  the  conclave  of  1522  six 
cardinals  had  paid  him  the  compliment  of  inscribing  his  name 
on  their  votes.*  The  traditional  aversion  of  the  College  for  men 
from  the  barbarous  North  had  been  put  aside  in  favour  of  one  who, 
in  point  of  public  service  and  political  reputation,  bore  no  com- 
parison with  the  Cardinal  of  York ;  and  when  it  was  first  re- 
ported that  a  foreigner  was  elected,  people  supposed  that  it 
must  be  Wolsey.  He  now  tempted  his  colleagues  with  enor- 
mous bribes,  and  he  appealed  once  more  to  the  Emperor.  Charles 
acknowledged  his  engagements,  and  even  exhibited  a  copy  of 
the  orders  sent  to  his  ambassador  to  procure  Wolsey's  election. 
But  he  caused  the  original  to  be  detained,  and  took  care  that 
no  effort  should  be  spared  to  ensure  the  elevation  of  Medici ;  or, 
failing  Medici,  of  Colonna  or  Famese. 

This  time  the  disappointment  was  final,  and  no  hope  remained. 
It  could  not  escape  the  sagacity  of  the  Cardinal  that  the  new 
Pontiff,  who  was  younger  than  himself,  had  been  raised  to  the 
throne  by  him  whose  support  he  had  so  painfully  striven  to 
secure,  that  his  own  claim  had  not  been  seriously  put  forward, 
and  that  he  had  been  fooled  with  false  professions.  He  at  once 
prepared  to  withdraw  from  the  warlike  alliance  against  France. 

In  the  year  1523,  while  Suffolk  ingloriously  harried  Picardy, 
Wolsey  already  manifested  his  disbelief  in  the  project  for  re- 
covering the  lost  dominions  of  the  English  Crown,  and  opposed 
the  attempt  to  push  the  frontier  beyond  the  Somme.    His  mode- 
rate counsels  were  encouraged  by  the  new  Pope,  Clement  VII. ^ 
whose  minister,  the    famous    Datario    Giberti,    revolving   vast 
schemes  for  the  expulsion  of  foreigners  from  Italy,  solicited  ixi 
secret  the  co-operation  of  England,  and  began  by  proposing     a 
suspension  of  arms.     Just  then  the  French  were  expelled  fro».ii 
Lombardy;    and  Bourbon,   on   the   point  of  invading  Francr^* 
bound  himself  by  the  most  sacred  oaths  to  depose  Francis,  axrmd 
to  acknowledge  no  King  but  Henry.     Richard  Pace,  the  s«.^> 
cessor    of  Colet  at  the  Deanery  of  St.   Paul's,   a   rcspectal^lc 
scholar,  but  a  negotiator  of  unsound  judgment,  who  was  de- 
stined,   in    the   imagination    of  the    Imperialists,    to    suppla-^i^ 
Wolsey,  followed    the    invaders  over  the  Maritime  Alps,  aK^d 
witnessed  the  easy  conquest  of  Provence.     He  persuaded  hir:^- 


*  They  were  proliably  split  votefl,  iuvolving  little  more  than  a  complinK 
or  a  warning ;  for  a  voting  pnper  sometimes  contained  six  or  eiglit  names.  ^^-^^ 
the  Srd  of  January.  1522,  thirty -nine  Cardinals  gave  more  than  bixty  votes.  V^-*'" 
terra  had  twelve,  De  Monte  seven,  Ancona  seven,  Medici.  Santa  Croce,  De^J* 
Valle,  iEgidiua  of  Viterbo,  Wolgey,  six  each ;  Adrian  of  Utrecht,  eight. 


Mr.  Brewer**  Calendar  of  State  Papers.  5 

self  that  the  whole  kingdom  would  speedily  be  overrun,  and  that 
Bourbon  would  be  faithful  to  his  oath.  The  Constable  was  a 
traitor  and  a  deserter,  yet  Pace  declared  that  it  would  be  folly 
to  doubt  his  word,  and  that  it  would  be  Wolsey's  fault  if  he  did 
not  seat  his  master  on  th^  throne  of  the  Valois.  The  prospect 
that  dazzled  Pace,  and  attracted  the  ambitious  King,  did  not 
disturb  the  Cardinal's  clearer  vision.  He  supplied  the  Imperial 
generals  with  some  money  and  much  advice,  reminding  them  of 
the  first  axiom  of  military  science,  that  the  object  of  war  is  the 
destruction  of  the  enemy's  forces  in  the  field.  When  Pescara 
tamed  aside  from  the  campaign  to  besiege  Marseilles,  he  refused 
to  send  a  single  English  soldier  into  France.  That  Bourbon 
and  Pescara  should  employ  their  victorious  troops  in  making 
the  Emperor  master  of  the  coast  that  connected  his  Spanish 
dominions  with  his  Italian  conquests,  was  reasonable.  But  it 
was  not  to  be  believed  that  they  would  risk  destruction  by 
plunging  into  the  heart  of  France,  from  a  chivalrous  desire  that 
a  foreign  potentate,  who  refused  to  help  them,  should  be  made, 
in  spite  of  himself,  as  powerful  as  their  master.  Wolscy  warned 
Pace  that  he  had  allowed  himself  to  be  made  a  dupe ;  and 
Pace  protested  that  the  ruin  of  the  expedition  was  due  to  the 
malice  of  Wolsey. 

For  many  months  a  discreet  agent  of  the  French  King  had 
been  concealed  at  Blackfriars,  and  he  was  followed,  before  the 
end  of  1524,  by  an  envoy  of  great  distinction.  As  the  tide  of 
fortune  turned,  and  the  besiegers  of  Marseilles  were  shut  up  in 
Lodi  and  Pavia,  Wolsey  drew  nearer  to  France,  without  re- 
nouncing his  claims  on  Spain.  The  rivalry  that  subsisted  like 
*  permanent  force  of  nature  between  the  two  Powers,  gave  him 
hope  that  he  would  be  able,  by  his  skill  in  negotiation,  to  derive 
profit,  and  to  incur  no  risk,  from  the  success  of  either.  Whilst 
^he  issue  was  undecided,  he  would  not  commit  England  irre- 
vocably. But  the  spirit  of  the  Burgfundian  alliance  gradually 
changed  to  resentment,  and  in  February,  1525,  the  seizure  of 
*he  Imperial  agent's  papers  disclosed  the  secret  animosity  that 
^^  parting  the  allies.  The  French  envoys  were  on  the  way 
^  their  first  audience,  when  they  were  met  by  the  news  from 
*^l)'  that  their  King  was  taken,  and  his  army  destroyed.  The 
^Iculations  founded  on  the  balance  of  power  were  overthrown, 
^o  advantage  could  be  extracted  from  the  keenness  of  a  compe- 
tition which  had  come  to  an  end.  The  men  who  in  the  pre- 
^ous  year  had  denounced  the  backwardness  of  Wolsey,  were 
triumphant ;  and  in  Spain,  in  Italy,  in  the  Low  Countries,  the 
*^nglish  agents  clamoured  for  the  immediate  partition  of  France. 

If  the  policy  of  the  last  four  years  was  worth  anything,  the 

time 


a  Wohey  and  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIII. : 

time  had  come  to  prove  it.  The  allies  were  victorious ;  Charles 
had  gained  the  object  for  which  he  had  associated  himself  with 
England ;  it  was  now  to  be  shown  what  English  purpose  that 
association  had  served.  Henry  sent  Tunstall  to  Madrid  to 
demand  the  Crown  of  France.  At  the  same  time  he  attempted 
to  raise  money  for  the  French  war  by  a  method  of  coercion 
"which  was  termed  an  Amicable  Grant. 

Charles  V.  refused  everything.  He  would  fulfil  no  engage- 
ment. He  would  not  keep  his  promise  to  marry  Henry's 
daughter,  unless  she  was  sent  to  be  educated  in  Spain.  Instead 
of  paying  his  debts,  he  asked  for  more  money.  At  the  same 
time  the  Amicable  Grant  was  met  by  a  general  and  indignant 
resistance.  Henry  could  obtain  no  help  at  home  or  abroad 
towards  the  conquests  which  had  formed  so  long  the  ruling 
purpose  of  his  actions.  The  political  system  which  had  been 
constructed  on  the  friendship  and  the  pledges  of  Charles  V.  had 
ended  in  disastrous  and  dishonourable  failure.  England  had 
spent  much,  and  had  acquired  nothing.  The  Emperor,  who 
had  undertaken  to  continue  the  payments  and  pensions  formerly 
made  by  France,  had  repudiated  his  obligation,  and  had  soli- 
cited the  Pope  to  release  him  from  it.  When  he  wanted  the 
help  of  England,  he  had  obtained  it  for  nothing.  He  con- 
temptuously refused  to  pay-  for  it  now  that  he  required  it  no 
more. 

Wolsey  had  long  prepared  for  this.  Whilst,  with  seeming 
confidence,  he  invited  Charles  to  redeem  his  bond,  he  was 
making  his  ])argain  out  of  the  extreme  necessity  of  France. 
The  Regent,  Louise  of  Savoy,  could  cede  no  territory ;  but  she 
was  willing  to  pay  a  heavy  price  for  the  only  succour  that  could 
avail,  and  Wolsey  exacted  a  sum  of  money  equal  to  the  ransom 
for  which  Charles  afterwards  released  his  captive.  Gold  was 
in  his  eyes  a  surer  gain  than  the  expensive  chances  of  conquest ; 
but  it  was  hard  for  Henry  to  content  himself  with  a  sordid 
equivalent  for  glory.  The  Emperor  Maximilian,  whose  capri- 
cious and  ingenious  fancy  was  so  little  satisfied  with  things  as 
they  were  that  he  wanted  to  be  Pope,  and  talked  of  making  Henry 
Emperor  in  his  stead,  had  also  suggested  that  he  should  be  King  of 
France.  Down  to  the  battle  of  Pavia  Henry  pursued  this  idea. 
What  Henry  V.  had  done  with  the  slender  resources  of  his  time 
seemed  not  impossible  now,  with  the  aid  of  the  most  powerful 
of  the  French  vassals,  and  of  those  alliances  which  displayed 
Wolsey 's  imperial  art.  To  relinquish  so  hopeful  an  enterprise 
without  a  shadow  of  political  or  military  success,  whilst  the 
•hearts  of  his  people  were  hardened  against  him,  and  his  con- 
federate defied  him  at  the  division  of  the  spoil,  was  an  impotent 

and 


Mr.  Brewer*^  Calendar  of  State  Papers.  7 

and  ignominious  end  of  Henry's  aspiring  schemes.  The  author 
of  all  this  humiliation  was  Wolsey.  It  was  his  policy  that  had 
been  brought  to  ruin  by  the  subtler  art  of  the  Imperial  Chan- 
cellor Gattinara.  His  enemies  at  home  had  their  opportunity, 
and  they  were  the  whole  nation.  Detested  by  the  nobles  for  his 
influence  over  Henry,  by  the  clergy  for  his  use  of  the  powers 
delegated  by  Rome,  and,  in  spite  of  his  profuse  beneficence,  by 
the  people  of  England,  as  the  oppressor  of  the  nobility,  he  had 
hardly  a  friend  except  the  King,  whose  pride  he  had  brought  so 
low. 

Yet  Wolsey  withstood  the  shock,  and  his  credit  remained 
nnshaken.  Henry  adopted  his  inglorious  policy,  bowed  his 
own  imperious  will  before  the  resistance  of  London  citizens  and 
Kentish  monks,  and,  at  the  moment  when  the  crown  of  France 
seemed  near  his  grasp,  abandoned  without  a  struggle  the  cherished 
hope  of  rivalling  the  Plantagenets.  Wolsey  was  able  to  bring 
these  things  about  because  of  an  important  change  that  had 
come  over  the  domestic  life  of  the  King. 

Catharine  of  Aragon  was  little  past  forty ;  but  the  infirmities 
of  age  had  befallen  her  prematurely,  and  her  husband,  though 
he  betrayed  it  by  no  outward  sign,  had  become  estranged  from 
her  since  the  end  of  the  year  1524.*  As  long  as  she  was  fair 
and  had  hope  of  children,  and  as  long  as  the  Austrian  alliance 
subsisted,  her  position  was  unassailed.  But  when  her  eldest 
children  died,  people  had  already  begun  to  predict  that  her 
marriage  would  not  hold  good  ;t  and  now  that  she  had  lost  the 
expectations  and  the  attractiveness  of  youth,  a  crisis  came  in 
which  England  ceased  to  depend  on  the  friendship  of  her  family, 
and  was  protected  against  their  enmity  by  a  close  union  with 
France  and  Rome. 

The  motives  that  impelled  Wolsey  to  take  advantage  of  the 
change  were  plausible.  For  a  quarter  of  a  century  the  strength 
of  the  Tudors  had  been  the  safety  with  which  the  succession 
was  provided  for;  but  when  it  became  certain  that  Catharine 
would  have  no  son  to  inherit  the  crown,  the  old  insecurity 
'crived,  and  men  called  to  mind  the  havoc  of  the  civil  war, 
^'^d  the  murders  in  the  Royal  House,  which  in  the  seven  pre- 
ying reigns  had  seven  times  determined  the  succession.  To 
preserve  the  Tudor  dynasty,  the  first  of  the  English  nobles  had 

*  That  is  the  date  given  by  Henry  himself  to  Grynreu^.  Hia  secretary, 
*^mber  4, 1527,  calls  the  divorce  a  thing  he  *  hath  long  tyme  desyrod.'  Wolsey 
^ritea,  December  5,  *longo  jam  tempore.'  Campeggio  writes,  October  17,  152J>, 
*pitt  di  dui  anni.*  But  on  the  28th,  after  hearing  the  Queen's  confession,  ho 
»}'«,  on  her  authority,  *  gia  moltl  anni.'  There  is  no  reason  to  doubt  the  report 
^f  Grynaus. 

t  iaicdon  Brotru,  September  1, 1514. 

suffered 


8  Wohcy  and  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIII.: 

sufTered  death  ;  but  nothing:  was  jet  secure.     If  a  Queen  coul 
reign  in  England,  Henry  VII.,  who  had  no  hereditary   clai 
except  through  his  mother,  who  survived   him,   was   not    X\ 
rightful  king.     Until  the  birth  of  Elizabeth  no  law  enabled 
woman    to   wear   the  crown  ;     no   example  justified   it ;    ar 
Catharine's   marriage   contract,   which  provided   that  her  soi 
should  succeed,  made  no  such  provision  for  her  daughters, 
was  uncertain    whether  Mary  would    be  allowed  to  reign  ui 
challenged  by  the  Scots  or  by  adherents  of  the  House  of  Yor 
The  White  Rose  had  perished,  in  the  main  line,  amid  the  ro 
of  Pavia ;  yet  Catharine  torturetl  herself  with  misgivings  as 
her  daughter's  claim.     The  Earl  of  Warwick,    a  helpless  ar 
unoffending  prisoner,  had  been  put  to  death,  that  her  weddii 
might   be   auspicious.     His   sister   Margaret,  the  Countess 
Salisbury,   was  living,  and  directed  the  Princess's   educatio 
Catharine  vowed  that  she  could   not  die  in  peace  unless  tl 
crimes  of  her  husband's  family  against  the  House  of  York  hj 
been  atoned  by  the    marriage  of  Mary  with  the  Countess 
Salisbury's  son. 

It  was  not  unreasonable  to  apprehend  that  Henry,  who  hi 
been  unfaithful  to  the  Queen  in  earlier  years,  would  not  be  tr 
to  her  now  ;  that  he  would  fall  under  the  dominion  of  favourit 
put  forward  and  prompted  by  the  Cardinal's  enemies,  and  th 
his  inheritance  would  be  disputed  by  bastards.  The  Kin^ 
soul,  the  monarchy,  and  Wolsey's  own  position  were 
jeopardy.  It  might  well  be  difficult  to  distinguish  the  influen 
of  politics,  interest,  and  conscience  on  his  choice  of  the  exp 
dient  by  which  he  hoped  to  avert  the  peril. 

To  a  man  who  understood  policy  better  than  religion,  t 
public  reasons  for  dissolving  the  King's  marriage  were  bet! 
than  those  which  had  recommended  it  to  his  father ;  and  the 
was  a  strong  inducement,  therefore,  to  ponder  the  words  of  Lei 
ticus,  and  to  regard  the  almost  immediate  death  of  the  Kin^ 
three  sons  as  the  penalty  of  his  transgression.  In  the  arbitra 
and  uncertain  condition  of  the  law,  it  was  seldom  difficult 
find  excuses  for  the  dissolution  of  a  Royal  marriage.  Hen 
could  expect  that  nothing  would  be  denied  to  him  that  favo 
or  influence  could  procure  for  others.  No  man's  marriage  w 
exposed  to  more  obvious  objection. 

The  battle  of  Pavia  had  placed  Rome  at  the  mercy  of  t 
Emperor.  Giberti  appealed  to  Wolsey  to  unite  with  France 
a  league  for  the  protection  of  Italy  and  of  the  Church.  A  brea 
between  Spain  and  Rome  was  essential  to  the  success  of  tl: 
which  he  meditated ;  and  nothing  could  be  more  welcoi 
than   the  appearance  of  the   Pope  striving  to  combine  in  o 

confedera 


Mr.  Brewer'*  Calendar  of  State  Papers.  9 

confederacj  all  the  enemies  of  Spain.  Having  embarked  in  so 
perilous  a  venture,  he  could  assuredly  be  made  to  give  a  heavy 
price  for  Elnglish  aid.  Wolsey  received  his  proposals  with  the 
promise  of  -hearty  assistance.  The  Queen,  the  Court,  every  in- 
flaence  in  the  State  and  in  the  nation  was  against  him.  But  he 
persuaded  the  King  to  enter  into  the  scheme  of  Clement  VII., 
with  the  assurance  that  he  would  be  rewarded  by  spiritual  favours 
more  than  sufficient  to  repay  all  that  he  gave  up  to  obtain  them. 
From  that  nioment  may  be  discerned  the  faint  but  suggestive 
trace  of  a  secret  that  required  the  intervention  of  the  Pope  and 
threatened  disturbance  at  home. 

On  Easter  Sunday,  two  months  after  the  great  turn  of  for- 
tune at  Pavia,  Wolsey  first  caused  it  to  be  known  that  he  had 
renounced  the  expectation  of  benefit  from  the  friendship  of 
Charles  V.*  Just  at  this  time  the  Primate  Warham  reminded 
him  that  it  was  unwise  to  broach  too  many  causes  of  dis- 
pleasure at  once,  and  advised  that  the  Amicable  Qrant  be  dropped 
'  till  this  great  matter  of  the  King's  grace  be  ended.'  t  On  the 
21st  of  April  Wolsey  wrote  to  Clement  a  solemn  and  myilorioiiB 
letter,  entreating  him  to  listen  favourably  to  a  certain  matter 
which  would  be  submitted  to  him  by  Clerk,  the  Bishop  of 
Bath,  who  was  the  Cardinal's  most  trusted  confidant.  But  the 
s^ret  was  one  which  the  Bishop  thought  it  an  unpropitious 
moment  to  reveal.  He  was  recalled  in  the  summer,  and  Casale 
and  Ghinucci,  the  two  men  whom  Wolsey  selected  to  take 
charge  of  the  divorce  in  1527,  were  sent  in  his  place  to  expose 
business  of  great  moment  to  the  Pope. 

Clement  and  his  allies  did  not  dare  to  defy  the  Emperor 
while  the  King  of  France  remained  his  prisoner,  for  they  justly 
feared  that  Francis  would  seek  his  own  freedom  by  betraying 
them.  He  proposed  to  Charles  that  they  should  subjugate  Italy 
^gether,  and  should  reduce  the  Pope  to  the  position  occupied  by 
^e  Patriarch  of  Constantinople  at  the  Court  of  the  Macedonian 
Emperors.  But  the  chief  Minister  of  Charles  V.,  Gattinara,  was 
*  Piedmontese,  who  preserved  the  love  of  his  country  in  the 
•c^ice  of  its  oppressor.  He  distrusted  and  opposed  the  plans 
®'  Francis.  He  even  imagined  a  scheme  by  which  his  country- 
men, having  been  rescued  from  the  French  by  the  Spaniards, 
8noulcl  buy  off  the  Spaniards  by  a  tribute  large  enough  to  avert 
^he  financial  ruin  of  Spain.  Before  attempting  war,  the  Italians 
tried  what  could  be  done  by  treachery.  They  offered  the  crown 
^f  Naples  to  Pescara,  the  ablest  of  the  Imperial  Commanders,  as 

Gayango*,  Spanish  Calendar,  April  20, 1525. 
*  brewer,  iv.  1263.    A  misprint  makes  it  tincertain  whether  Warham  wrote  on 
^'^  12th  or  19th  of  April.    Easter  fell  on  the  16th. 

a  bribe 


10  JVolsey  and  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIIL : 

a  bribe  to  desert  the  Emperor.  Pescara  threw  his  tempter  into 
prison  ;  and  a  year  passed  without  an  effort  to  mend  the  fortune 
of  Italy.  At  length  Francis  was  released,  and  the  Italian 
patriots  took  heart  to  avow  their  warlike  purpose.  Clement 
put  himself  at  the  head  of  a  Sacred  League,  which  was  joined 
by  France,  and  protected  by  England.  Giberti  called  upon  his 
countrymen  to  cast  out  the  invader ;  and  Sadolet,  in  State  papers, 
which  are  perhaps  the  noblest  compositions  of  the  Renaissance, 
proclaimed  the  liberty  and  the  independence  of  Italy. 

The  moment  for  which  Henry  waited  had  come.  Clement 
had  burnt  his  ships,  had  refused  fair  terms  of  peace,  and  could 
not  venture  to  deny  the  allies  who  sheltered  him  from  manifest 
ruin.  The  secret  matter  which  had  slumbered  for  a  year 
revived.  Giberti  assured  Wolsey  that  the  Pope  would  do  for 
him  all  that  was  within  his  power.*  But  Clerk  who  was  again 
at  Rome,  reported  that  all  else  would  be  well,  but  for  the  in- 
auspicious business  of  the  divorce.  Henry  paid  a  large  sum 
into  the  Papal  treasury :  but  his  cause  made  no  progress  during 
the  autumn  of  1526.  Six  months  later  the  difficulties  were  over- 
come, and  matters  were  arranged  in  a  way  so  satisfactory  to 
Wolsey  that  he  boasted  of  it  as  a  triumph  of  skill.f 

The  Pope  soon  repented  of  the  temerity  with  which  he  had 
challenged  the  supremacy  of  Spain.  The  stronger  confederates 
held  back,  while  the  weaker  stood  exposed  to  the  calculated 
vengeance  of  Charles  V.  Imperial  partisans  made  their  way 
into  the  Leonine  City,  and  plundered  the  Vatican.  The  Emperor 
appealed  before  the  assembled  Cardinals  to  a  General  Council 
<igainst  the  acts  of  the  Pontiff.  This  threat  had  power  over 
Clement.  He  could  not,  without  danger,  allow  his  claim  to  be 
disputed  before  a  hostile  audience.  His  right  to  enjoj'  the 
higher  honours  of  the  Church  had  been  questioned  by  reason 
of  his  birth,  and  his  election  to  the  Papacy  had  been  accom- 
plished under  conditions  which  gave  ground  for  cavil.  He  was 
elected  in  consequence  of  a  private  agreement  with  Cardinal 
Colonna,  who  was  his  enemy  through  life,  who  had  tried  to 
exclude  him  from  the  conclave,  who  attempted  afterwards  to 
expel  him  from  the  throne.  Men  suspected  the  secret  method 
which  had  wrought  that  surprising  change.  It  was  reported 
that  the  rivals  had  made  a  simoniacal  compact  by  which  Medici 
obtained  the  tiara,  while  Colonna  received  the  richest  office  and 


♦  •  In  iis  secretioribujs  ac  majoris  momenti  tantum  sibi  polliceri  potest  D.  V.  R. 
<le  S.  D.  N.  voluntate  ijuantuin  progrcdi  potest  auctoritas  S.  8.* — Brewer,  iv.  257^. 

t  *  Wherin  such  good  and  suustancial  ordre  and  procesae  hathc  hitherto  becMi 
made  and  uaed,  as  the  like,  I  suppose,  hath  not  becii  seen  in  any  time  hertofure.*' 
—State  Papers,  i.  189. 

the- 


Mr.  Brewer**  Calendar  of  State  Papers.  11 

the  finest  palace  in  the  gift  of  the  Pope.  Bat  by  a  recent  law  of 
Julius  II.  an  election  won  by  bribes  or  promises  was  for  ever 
invalid.  The  Pope's  courage  gave  way ;  even  Sadolet  declared 
that  resistance  was  unavailing;  and  Giberti,  boiling  with  in- 
<lignation  and  resentment,  and  bewailing  that  it  was  his  fate  to 
serve  the  subtle  and  vacillating  Florentine  instead  of  the  reso- 
lute English  Cardinal,  confessed  that,  without  encouragement 
from  France  or  hope  from  England,  it  was  necessary  to  submit 
to  tenns  dictated  by  Spanish  generals.  In  a  condition  so 
precarious,  the  Pope  could  take  no  active  share  in  a  transac- 
tion which  was  an  outrage  to  the  Royal  family  of  Spain.  But 
Datario's  animosity  against  the  Imperialists  was  such  as  to  in- 
cline him  towards  measures  which  would  injure  them  without 
compromising  the  Papacy. 

Giberti  had  applied  for  an  English  pension,  and  he  long  con- 
tinued to  be  trusted  as  a  supporter  of  Henry's  cause.  After  the  fall 
of  Rome  he  withdrew  to  his  diocese  of  Verona,  where  the  fame 
which  he  won  as  the  model  of  a  perfect  bishop  has  obscured  the 
memory  of  his  political  career.  He  confided  to  the  English 
agents  the  fact  that  he  had  left  the  Court  because  Clement  was 
ungrateful  to  those  who  deserved  well  of  him.*  They  understood 
that  Giberti  had  advised  him  to  concede  what  Henry  asked  for 
^  his  matrimonial  affairs ;  and  they  induced  him  to  return  to 
Rome,  under  a  promise  that  he  would  use  all  his  influence  in 
the  King's  behalf.  What  was  the  measure  of  encouragement  he 
gave  daring  the  last  days  of  his  ministry,  in  the  spring  of  1527, 
cannot  be  ascertained.  It  probably  amounted  to  no  more  than 
this,  that  the  marriage  might  be  tried  in  England  without 
the  interference  of  the  Pope.  As  things  then  stood,  such  an 
understanding  would  be  sufficient  to  justify  the  exultation  of 
W^olsey. 

Up  to  this  time  the  idea  of  divorce  had  occupied  the 
thoughts  of  Henry  in  a  vague  and  languid  way.  Neither 
^^ersion  for  the  Queen,  nor  desire  of  an  heir,  nor  religious 
J^ple  caused  him  to  pursue  it  with  a  fixed  determination. 
•Whilst  it  was  uncertain  who  was  to  be  his  future  Queen, 
the  King  displayed  no  eagerness.  The  only  Power  whose  aid 
^*s  Worth  seeking,  or  that  could  venture  to  affront  Charles  by 

*  He  promues,  however,  to  use  all  efforts  in  the  King's  behalf.  He  says  the 
^^  cause  of  his  leaving  the  Pope's  palace  was  that  the  Pope  did  not  attend  to 
^?*^  advice,  and  was  not  grateful  to  those  that  deserved  well  of  him ;  but  Wolsey 
^jst  take  care  not  to  tell  this  to  Oampeggio.' — Vunnes  to  Wolsey,  Brewer^  iv. 
?^-  *  PriBcepit  etiam  Dominus  Veronensis  Vicario  suo  non  modo  favere  Maj. 
•^  caossB,  sed  etiam  in  absentia  sua  convociire  et  hortari  Theologos  ut  pro  Maj. 
5*  *<^ribant ;  sed  et  se  qnoque  subscriptunim  poUicitus  est.' — Croke  to  Henry, 
^«^*«  B«»rda.  i.  531.  ^  i  ^y 

taking 


12  Wolsey  and  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIIL  : 

• 

taking  advantage  of  his  kinswoman's  disgrace,  was  France.  In 
the  House  of  Valois  there  were  two  princesses.  Renee,  the 
Queen's  sister,  was  ill-favoured  and  all  but  deformed.  Henry 
was  not  likely  to  incur  such  risk  for  such  a  bride.  On  his  last 
journey  to  France  Wolsey  met  an  envoy  from  Hungary,  who 
had  been  sent  to  ask  the  hand  of  Renee  for  his  master.  He 
wrote  to  the  King  that  the  envoy  when  he  saw  her  had  forthwith 
renounced  his  purpose.  He  wrote  in  terms  he  would  not  have 
thought  prudent  if  he  had  lately  designed  that  she  should  be 
Catharine's  successor. 

The  King's  sister,  Margaret  Duchess  of  Alenqon,  was  richly 
endowed  with  talent  and  beauty,  and  she  became  a  widow  in 
April  1525,  at  the   moment  when  England  forsook  her  Bur- 
gundian  ally.     At  first  it  was  imagined  that  she  would  marry 
the  Emperor ;  and  she  visited  Spain,  hoping,  perhaps,  in  that 
way    to   effect  her    brother's   deliverance.     In    the   year    1526 
Margaret  was  again  in  France :  and  a  widely-spread  tradition, 
doubted  but  not  discussed  by  Mr.  Brewer,  points  to  her  as  the  * 
wife  intended  for  the  King.     The  Venetian  Falier,  the  only 
diplomatist  who  showed  a  disposition  to  accept  the  CardinaFs 
account  of  the  divorce,  says  that  he  had  made  proposals  for  her 
hand.     The  testimony  of  other  writers  is  vitiated  by  an  ana- 
chronism ;   for  they  assign  the  divorce  to  the  year  1527,  when 
Margaret  was  already  married   to  a  second  husband.      Guic- 
ciardini  and  Harpsiield  speak  of  Renee,  as  if  either  name  was 
a   guess   suggested    by   obvious   probability.     Du   Bellay,    the 
shrewdest  of  courtiers,  conjectured  that  Renee  had  been  thought 
of.     He  cannot  have  heard  that  it  was  Margaret.     She  herself 
once  reminded  Henry,  in  after  years,  that  she  was  to  have  been 
his  wife.     This  speech,  which  would  have  been  ungracious  if 
she  had   refused  him,  was  an   allusion   to  proposals  made  b^' 
Lewis    XII.,    immediately    after    Prince   Arthur's    death,    and 
renewed  in  vain  until  1507.     Francis  I.  was  willing  to  encou- 
rage a  measure  which   would   perpetuate    enmity  between  his 
powerful  neighbours;    but  he  would  have   lost   his  advantage 
by  implicating  himself  irrevocably  on  one  side  of  the  quarrel. 
Intermarriage  with  the  House  of  Tudor  was  an  object  of  his 
policy ;  but  before  concluding  it  he  gave  his  sister  in  marriage 
to  the  King  of  Navarre,  and  planned  a  match  between  Renee 
and    Hercules,    Prince   of  Este.*     In   the  spring   of    1527  no 
princess  was  left  who  could  have  taken  the  place  of  Catharine. 
The  repudiation  of  his  Spanish  wife  would  not  enable  Henry 

♦  Marjraret  was  betrothed  to  Navarre  at  Christmas,  1526.  The  pro])Oj»ed  match 
between  Reuee  and  the  son  of  the  Duke  of  Fcrrara  was  known  April  4,  1527. — 
De$Jardin$f  N4(,oe.  are  •  la  Totcane,  ii.  935. 

to 


Mr.  Brcwer*jf  Cdtew^ar  of  State  Papers.  13 

to  compensate  himself  by  closer  ties  with  France.  The  divorce, 
promising  no  political  advantage,  could  only  make  way  for  the 
elevation  of  an  English  bride.  But  though  purposeless  now  as 
an  affair  of  State,  it  became  an  object  of  passion. 

After  long  preliminaries  a  treaty  of  alliance  with  France  was 
signed  in  April  1527 ;  and  Henry  betrothed  his  daughter  Mary 
to  the  son  of  his  ally.  The  event  was  celebrated  on  the  4th  of 
May  by  a  ball,  at  which  the  French  ambassador,  Turenne,  danced 
with  the  Princess.  King  Henry's  partner  was  Anne  Boleyn. 
At  that  time  she  had  lived  at  Court  four  years,  and  Henry, 
thoagh  not  dissolute  according  to  the  standard  of  contemporary 
monarchs,  had  long  regarded  her  with  feelings  which  contri- 
buted to  make  him  indifferent  to  a  foreign  match.  She  repelled 
his  suit ;  and  for  more  than  a  year  he  could  obtain  no  sign  of 
requited  love.  At  length  he  made  her  an  offer  of  marriage, 
which  was  accepted.  His  letter  is  undated ;  but  it  must  have 
been  written  about  the  time  when  Anne  Boleyn  first  became 
conspicuous  :  not  later,  because  the  intrigue  which  was  designed 
to  make  her  Queen  stood  revealed  before  the  end  of  May.  There 
is  cogent  reason  to  believe  that  it  was  not  written  earlier.  Lord 
Rochford  deposed  before  the  Legates  at  Blackfriars  that  the 
conjugal  estrangement  between  the  King  and  Queen  had  begun 
in  1527.*  His  evidence  is  worthless  regarding  the  date  of  the 
desertion  of  Catharine  ;  but  it  goes  far  to  determine  the  date  of 
the  engagement  of  Anne,  which  he  must  have  known.  For  in 
the  interest  of  the  Boleyns  it  was  essential  that  the  scruples  of 
Henry  should  have  preceded  the  proposals  of  marriage  to  their 
daughter.  If  the  offer  had  been  made  earlier  llian  1527,  it  would 
have  ruined  their  cause  to  assign  to  that  yc  ir  the  awakening  of 
the  King*s  conscience. 

As  soon  as  the  Queen  had  an  appointed  rival,  and  the 
pleas  of  policy  and  religion  were  absorbed  in  the  stronger  in- 
fluences of  passion,  the  divorce  was  pressed  forward  with 
^^perate  and  unrelenting  energy.  The  friendship  of  France 
was  secured,  and  there  was  nothing  to  be  feared  from  Rome. 
On  the  17th  of  May,  the  Archbishops,  Warham  and  Wolsey, 
sponsible  in  their  character  of  Legates  for  the  observance  of 
Ppblic  morality  and  ecclesiastical  law,  called  Henry  to  justify 
"imself  before  them,  forasmuch  as  he  was  living,  in  defiance  of 
^"6  Levitical  prohibition,  in  wedlock  with  his  brother's  widow, 
f  he  proceedings  were  secret.  Proctors  appeared  to  accuse  and 
*^  defend  the  marriage.  Both  accuser  and  defender  were  officers 
*^  the  household  of  the  King. 

_  *  Speaking  on  the  15th  of  July,  1529,  he  said  *  about  two  3  eari  8iu?e.* — UerUrt's 
^*/«,  114. 

The 


14  Wolsey  and  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIIL : 

The  efTect  of  this  collusive  suit  was  to  put  Henry  in  the 
position  of  defendant.  He  took  charge  of  the  Queen's  interests 
as  well  as  his  own.  He  was  not  a  persecutor,  but  a  victim  ; 
the  protector,  not  the  assailant,  of  her  happiness  and  honour. 
It  was  in  his  power  so  to  conduct  the  defence  as  to  ensure  his 
condemnation,  and  so  to  contrive  his  appeal  as  to  ensure  its 
rejection.  Instead  of  putting  forward  his  own  suspicious  scruples, 
he  would  appear  to  yield,  with  grief  and  remorse,  to  the  solemn 
voice  of  the  Church,  reproaching  him  with  involuntary  sin, 
and  dividing  those  whom  God  had  not  joined.  It  was  intended 
that  Catharine  should  know  nothing  until  sentence  was  given. 

At  the  end  of  a  fortnight  Wolsey  adjourned  the  court.  So 
grave  an  issue  required,  he  said,  that  he  should  consult  with  the 
most  learned  prelates.  In  truth,  the  plot  was  marred  by  the  fall 
of  Rome.  The  Pope  was  shut  up  in  the  castle  of  St.  Angelo. 
There  was  no  hope  that  the  Emperor's  prisoner  would  confirm  a 
sentence  against  the  Emperor's  aunt  There  was  danger  that  he 
might  be  induced,  by  fear  or  calculation,  to  revoke  the  Legate's 
authority,  or  to  visit  the  fraudulent  intrigue  with  the  censures 
which  were  never  better  employed  than  in  protecting  the  weak, 
and  upholding  the  sanctity  of  marriage.  That  danger  neither 
Henry  nor  Wolsey  had  the  hardihood  to  face.  No  more  was 
heard  of  the  abortive  suit  until,  in  our  day,  Mr.  Brewer  dragged 
it  into  light. 

Wolsey  had  already  sounded  the  opinion  of  the  divines.  The 
first  consultation  was  unfavourable.  The  Bishop  of  London, 
the  Dean  of  St.  Paul's,  Wakefield,  the  first  Hebrew  scholar 
in  the  country,  six  learned  men  sent  up  to  Lambeth  by  the 
University  of  Cambridge,  pronounced  that  the  marriage  was 
valid.  Pace  and  Wakefield  promptly  retracted.  Cambridge 
was  partially  brought  round  by  Cranmer.  It  was  generally 
believed  in  England  that  Catharine,  in  her  brief  union  with 
Prince  Arthur,  had  not,  in  fact,  contracted  affinity  with  her 
husband's  kindred.  It  was  difficult  otherwise  to  understand  how 
Henry  VII.  could  have  spoken  seriously  of  making  her  his 
Queen.  Such  things  might  be  in  Portugal,  where  the  King 
could  scarcely  be  prevented  from  marrying  his  step-mother. 
But  in  England  stricter  notions  prevailed.  Tunstall  afterwards 
declared  that  he  had  defended  the  marriage  only  until  he  was 
convinced  that  the  popular  belief  on  this  point  was  wrong. 

No  English  divine  enjoyed  so  high  a  reputation  as  John  Fisher, 
the  Bishop  of  Rochester.  Of  all  the  works  written  against 
Luther  in  the  beginning  of  the  Reformation,  his  were  the  most 
important ;  and  he  was  eminent  not  only  in  controversy,  but  as 
a  promoter  of  that  new  learning  which  theologians  who  were 

weaker 


Mr.  Brewer**  Calendar  of  State  Papers.  15 

weaker  in  the  faith  looked  on  with  detestation  and  dismay. 
Fisher's  support  would  have  been  worth  having ;  for  he  was 
neither  subservient  to  Wolsey,  like  the  Bishops  of  Lincoln  and 
Bath,  nor  afraid  of  him,  like  the  Primate ;  and  he  would  have 
carried  with  him  the  whole  weight  of  the  school  of  Erasmus, 
which  constituted  the  best  portion  of  the  English  Church.  As 
Wolsey  deemed  him  an  enemy,  the  question  was  submitted  to 
him  in  terms  so  general  that  Fisher  appears  to  have  made 
answer  without  suspecting  that  he  was  taking  the  first  step  on  a 
road  ending  at  the  scaflTold. 

Catharine  had  been  apprised,  very  early,  of  all  that  was 
done.  In  the  month  of  March  she  had  taken  alarm.  She 
was  not  allowed  to  see  the  Spanish  ambassador  alone ;  but  she 
warned  him  that  she  had  need  of  his  protection.*  On  the 
22nd  of  June  Henry  informed  her  that  he  could  regard  her  no 
longer  as  his  lawful  wife.  In  spite  of  the  vigilance  of  the 
Government,  Catharine  despatched  her  physician  and  one  of  her 
attendants  to  Spain,  to  instruct  the  Emperor  of  the  outrage 
inflicted  on  his  blood.  The  remedy  she  desired  was  that  he 
should  cause  the  Pope  to  revoke  the  powers  which  had  been 
delegated  to  the  Cardinal  for  life.  The  ambassador,  Mendozn, 
reported  at  the  same  time  that  public  animosity  was  risin<>^ 
against  him ;  that  his  enemies  were  forcing  upon  him  measures 
by  which  he  would  inevitably  work  out  his  own  destruction  ; 
and  that  Tunstall  would  soon  be  Chancellor  in  his  stead. 

The  French  alliance  afforded  Wolsey  the  means  of  recoverinir 
his  influence,  and  of  becoming  once  more,  for  a  short  space,  the 
principal  personage  in  Europe.  At  the  head  of  the  most 
splendid  embassy  that  ever  crossed  the  Channel,  he  went  to 
concert  with  Francis  the  measures  to  be  taken  in  common  defence 
against  their  triumphant  enemy.  It  was  necessary  to  provide^ 
during  the  abeyance  of  the  Papacy,  for  the  government  of  the 
national  Churches.  Wolsey  agreed  with  Francis  that  they 
*houl(i  administer  the  ecclesiastical  interests  of  both  countries 
Without  reference  to  the  Pope  while  his  captivity  lasted,  and 
should  be  free  to  accept  his  acts  or  to  reject  them  at  pleasure. 
^  still  larger  scheme  for  the  government  of  the  entire  Church 
Was  proposed  by  the  French.  The  suspension  of  the  Papal 
authority  was  not  so  formidable  as  the  uses  to  which  it  might 
■^  put  by  the  ambition  of  Charles.  If  he  could  not  compel  his 
prisoner  to  serve  him  as  the  instrument  of  his  vengeance  against 
trance  and  England,  it  was  in  his  power  to  put  a  more  pliant 
^lid  trusty  cardinal  in  his  place.     This  was  no  visionary  appre- 

'Kstft  mnv  Bospechosa  que  en  ningn.ia  cosa  sekablcn  verdnd.*— Mendoza  t.» 
^"arles,  March  10, 1527. 

hension. 


16  Wolsey  and  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIII. : 

henslon.  Ferdinand  of  Austria  was  entreating  his  brother 
not  to  relax  his  grasp  until  the  Pope  had  accomplished  all 
that  was  wanted  for  the  settlement  of  Europe ;  and  Mendoza, 
seeking  to  tempt  Wolsey  away  from  the  connection  with  France, 
whispered  to  him  that  the  Emperor  now  united  the  spiritual  and 
temporal  power,  and  was  in  a  position  to  fulfil  his  ancient 
promise,  by  deposing  Clement.  Wolsey  was  proof  against 
such  solicitation.  The  Divorce  parted  him  irrevocably  from 
Charles ;  and  when  the  Emperor,  seriously  alarmed  by  the 
report  that  Wolsey  was  to  be  made  Patriarch  of  Gaul,  and 
meant  to  detach  the  Gallican  and  Anglican  Churches  from  the 
See  of  Rome,  offered  him  a  sum  which  would  be  now  160,000/., 
even  that  stupendous  bribe  was  tendered  in  vain. 

Francis  I.  offered  passports  to  the  Italian  cardinals,  inviting 
them  to  assemble  at  Avignon  to  consult  with  Wolsey  and  with 
their  French  colleagues  for  the  welfare  of  religion.  Wolsey 
urged  them  to  come,  in  the  expectation  that  he  would,  at  their 
head,  possess  a  virtual  supremacy.  The  cardinals  who  were  in 
France  joined  with  him  to  inform  Clement  that  they  held 
themselves  absolved  from  their  obedience,  and  intended,  if  he 
should  die  in  captivity,  to  elect  a  Pontiff*  for  themselves. 
Among  the  signatures  to  this  momentous  declaration  are  the 
names  not  only  of  the  French  and  English  Chancellors,  but  of 
the  Legate  Salviati,  who  was  nearly  related  to  the  Pope.  It 
was  not  entirely  unwelcome  to  Clement  himself,*  as  it  made  it 
less  likely  that  the  Emperor  would  coerce  him.  But  he  refused 
to  permit  his  cardinals  to  accept  the  ominous  invitation  to 
Avignon,  for  Gattinara  met  it  by  threatening  him  with  a 
council  to  be  summoned  by  Colonna.  To  meet  the  resist- 
ance of  the  Italian  cardinals,  Wolsev  devised  the  boldest  of 
all  his  manoeuvres.  He  proposed  that  Clement  should  sign  a 
protest  nullifying  all  the  acts  he  might  perform  under  pressure 
of  captivity  ;  and  should  appoint  Wolsey  his  Vicar-General 
until  the  moment  of  his  deliverance.  He  charged  Gambara, 
the  Nuncio  in  England,  to  obtain  these  powers  by  persuading 
the  Pope  that  Charles  would  never  set  him  free,  and  that  his 
Vicar  would  do  his  will  in  all  things.  He  was  carefully  to 
conceal  from  him  the  purpose  to  which  the  required  authority 
was  to  be  applied.  It  would  have  settled  the  question  of 
Divorce,  by  enabling  Wolsey  to  appoint  the  judges  and  to  hear 
the  appeal.     To  strengthen  his  envoy's  hands,  he  proposed  to 

*  ^fiaudcoqiie  nostra  in  S.  D.  N.  ccclesiAsticcBnue  authoritatis  gnitiam  suscopta 
consilio,  ex  liis  iudiciis  ab  ejus  Sanctitate  proDuri.  quno  exhibuit  per  nuncinni 
ilium  clundestinnin  quern  ad  Dora.  Lautrec  ab  ca  nuper  misisum  V.  K.  D.  scrlbit.* 
— Wolsey  to  Duprat,  October  5,  1527. 

the 


Mr.  Brewer'*  Calendar  of  State  Papers.  Til 

the  French  Chancellor,  Duprat,  that  Francis  should  pledge  him- 
self to  Wolsey  to  employ  all  the  resources  of  France  in  the 
Pope's  service,  and  not  to  sheathe  the  sword  until  he  was 
delivered.  The  engagement  was  to  be  seen  before  starting  by 
Gambara.  Then  Wolsey  undertook,  by  virtue  of  his  special 
powers,  to  release  the  French  King  from  his  bond.  After  it 
had  been  described  in  fitting  terms  to  Clement,  and  had  exalted 
his  confidence  and  admiration  for  the  Cardinal,  it  was  to  become 
waste  paper. 

It  was  the  opinion  of  Henry's  advisers  that  the  question  of  his 
marriage  might  still  have  been  settled,  as  it  was  begun,  within 
the  realm ;  and  Wolsey's  elaborate  and  demonstrative  arrange- 
ments for  a  separation  from  Rome  that  might  endure  inde- 
finitely, confirmed  their  advice.  It  was  unreasonable  that  grave 
ecclesiastical  causes  should  wait  the  pleasure  of  the  hostile 
soldiery  that  guarded  the  Pontiff;  or  that  an  issue  of  vital 
consequence  to  the  English  crown  and  nation  should  be  left 
to  the  judgment  of  men  who  were  the  helpless  prisoners  of 
an  interested  and  adverse  party.  But  on  this  point  Wolsey 
was  resolved  to  bear  down  all  opposition.  Rome  supplied  the 
qualification  that  made  him  indispensable.  To  preserve  that 
supply,  to  maintain  his  position  as  Legate  against  the  in- 
fluence of  Charles  V.,  he  upheld  with  a  firm  and  jealous  hand 
the  prerogatives  of  the  Papacy ;  and  he  succeeded,  with  some 
difficulty,  in  convincing  his  master  that  it  would  be  unsafe  to 
proceed  with  no  better  warrant  than  they  possessed  already. 

The  Cardinal  was  absent  during  the  whole  summer ;  the  ablest 
men  who  were  engaged  in  public  affairs,  Tunstall,  More,  and 
Gardiner,  were  in  his  retinue,  and  those  who  envied  his  great- 
ness and  denied  his  capacity,  possessed  the  King's  ear.  They 
disbelieved  that  the  Pope  would  be  willing  now  to  help  them 
^inst  the  Emperor,  or  would  assent  to  Wolsey's  audacious  plans 
for  assuming  his  place.  He  might  succeed,  without  any  profit 
*o  the  King.  He  might  effect  his  own  exjiltation,  and  might 
then  be  intimidated  from  employing  it  for  the  desired  end.  It 
^as  plain  that  he  was  using  the  Divorce  for  his  own  aggrandise- 
^J^ent.  His  aggrandisement  might,  after  all,  do  nothing  for  the 
I'ivorce.  When  his  vast  designs  were  unfolded,  a  sense  that 
they  were  outwitted  fell  upon  the  cabal  that  were  pushing  the 
fortunes  of  Anne  Boleyn.  Wolsey  had  been  ready  in  May  to 
go  all  lengths,  and  he  now  declined  to  go  further  without  the 
cognisance  of  Rome,  or  to  question  the  plenitude  of  the  dis- 
pensing power.  It  seemed  that  he  was  betraying  the  King  to 
the  Pope.  He  defended  himself  in  a  remarkable  letter,  and 
fancied  that  he  had  dispersed  the  gathering  storm.     When  Henry 

Vol.  143. — No,  285.  C  expressed 


18  Wolsey  and  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIIL : 

expressed  a  wish  to  see  Gardiner,  he  replied  that  he  could  not 
spare  him. 

Then,  for  a  season,  his  adversaries  prevailed.  They  per- 
suaded Henry  that  he  could  reach  his  end  by  a  shorter  road ; 
and  he  sent  his  Secretary  Knight  to  Rome,  with  instructions 
which  were  unknown  to  Wolsey.  For  the  delicate  mission  of 
inducing  the  Pope  to  abdicate  his  supreme  functions  in  Wolsey's 
hands,  he  had  chosen  to  employ  none  but  Italians.  The 
Nuncio  Gambara,  supported  by  letters  from  Cardinal  Salviati, 
was  to  open  the  matter.  Gambara  was  to  be  followed  bji 
Casale  and  Ghinucci.  Stafileo,  Bishop  of  Sebenico  and  Dean 
of  the  Rota,  promised  his  assistance ;  for, Wolsey  had  found  him 
in  France,  and  had  no  difficulty  in  moulding  his  opinion. 
Ghinucci  and  Casale  were  the  most  respectable  of  all  the  agents 
engaged  in  these  transactions.  But  Gambara  was  a  man  steeped 
in  Italian  intrigue;  and  Stafileo  obtained  the  promise  of  a 
French  bishopric  and  a  Cardinal's  hat,  and  died  in  the  following 
■  summer,  claiming  his  reward  with  a  vigour  injurious  to  the 
credit  of  his  legal  advice.  Clement  afterwards  accused  Stafilec 
of  having  been  the  author  of  the  mischief.  His  adhesion  was 
a  notable  event,  for  he  presided  over  the  supreme  tribunal  bj 
which,  in  the  last  instance,  the  validity  of  marriages  was 
decided ;  and  it  was  a  significant  circumstance  that  the  King's 
cause  was  at  once  taken  up  and  pleaded  by  the  official  agents 
of  the  Papacy. 

But  the  artful  machinery  which  Wolsey  had  contrived  was 
thrust  aside,  the  management  was  wrested  from  his  hands,  and 
he  was  obliged  to  recall  his  instructions  ;  while  Knight  pro- 
ceeded to  execute  orders  which  were  studiously  concealed  from 
his  knowledge.  During  the  interval  in  which  his  adversaries 
pursued  the  matter  in  their  own  way,  and  laboured  to  rob  him 
of  the  merit  of  success,  Clement  made  terms  with  his  con- 
querors. The  Protest  and  the  Vicariate  became  words  withoui 
a  moaning,  and  Wolsej's  dream  of  superseding  the  Pope  was 
dissolved. 

The  substance  of  Knight*s  mission  was  to  procure  a  dispensa- 
tion for  bigamy.  The  original  intention  was  only  to  seek  z 
dispensation  for  marriage  within  the  forbidden  degrees  wher 
ihe  first  should  be  dissolved.  It  could  be  requisite  only  because 
Thhe  King  had  been  the  lover  of  the  mother  or  sister  of  Ann< 
tBbleyn.  He  declared  that  it  was  not  the  mother.  The  dis- 
jpensation  demanded  would,  in  some  measure,  have  confirmee 
t€he  right  to  try  the  cause  in  London.  But  the  Nuncio  advisee 
iMiat  it  should  be  unconditional,  and  should  not  be  made  tc 
Wfjp end  on  the  divorce  of  Catharine.     This  petition  was  noi 

brough 


Mr.  Brewer^^  Calendar  of  State  Papers.  19 

broaght  before  the  Pope.  Knight  was  overtaken  on  the  way  by 
Lord  Rochford's  chaplain,  bringing  an  altered  draft.  Cranmei 
was  chaplain  to  Lord  Rochford.  He  was  so  much  averse  to  the 
theories  that  were  undermining  the  marriage-law,  that  he  pro- 
tested vehemently  against  the  later  practice  of  his  Lutheran 
friends,  calling  them  Mahomedans  for  their  encouragement 
of  polygamy.  It  would  appear  that  he  was  the  author  of  the 
ait^  counsels. 

When  Wolsey  on  his  return  reported  himself  to  Henry,  the 
answer  came  to  him  in  the  shape  of  an  order  from  Anne  Boleyn. 
He  could  measure  the  ground  he  had  lost  by  his  prolonged 
absence.  He  regained  it  in  the  following  winter  by  his  inex- 
haustible energy  and  resource ;  and  the  importunities  of  Anne 
for  some  token  of  attention,  were  it  even  a  basket  of  shrimps, 
confirmed  him  in  the  assurance  of  recovered  power.  Knight's 
negotiations  with  Roman  and  Tuscan  masters  of  refined  diplo- 
nuu^j  ended  in  quick  discomfiture.  Long  before  his  compla- 
cent incompetence  was  exposed,  Wolsey  had  taken  back  into 
his  own  hands  the  conduct  of  affairs.  The  sharp  lesson  just 
administered  had  taught  him  caution.  His  services  in  pro- 
moting the  Divorce  were  certain  to  increase  the  exasperation  of 
the  people,  and  could  never  disarm  the  hatred  or  the  vengeance 
of  the  magnates  whom  he  had  humbled.  Success  was  not  less 
<langerous  than  failure.  It  became  the  object  of  his  efforts  to 
transfer  from  himself  the  formidable  burden  of  responsibility, 
^nd  to  take  shelter  behind  a  higher  authority.  He  applied  first 
for  powers  for  himself,  or  for  Stafileo,  to  try  the  validity  of  the 
marriage;  but  he  required  that  their  commission  should  be 
couched  in  terms  which  implicitly  ruled  the  decision.  When 
ke  knew  that  the  Pope  was  about  to  be  released,  he  tried  to  give 
him  a  larger  share  of  action,  by  proposing  that  a  Cardinal  should 
be  sent  over  as  Legate,  in  the  hope  that  his  Commission  would 
^mible  him  to  control  the  Legate's  course,  and  to  dictate  the 
sentence.  In  a  passage  which  was  omitted  from  the  fair  copy 
of  this  despatch,  Wolsey  confessed  that  the  dissolution  of  a 
iiivriage  which  had  lasted  so  long  would  give  too  great  a  shock 
^  public  feeling  for  him  to  take  it  upon  himself. 

Before  the  day  came  on  which  the  Imperialists  had  cove- 
'^ted  to  release  the  Pope,  he  was  allowed  to  escape,  and  he 
^ade  his  way  to  Orvieto,  where  the  emissaries  of  Henry, 
Wnging  to  his  feet  the  humble  but  fervent  prayer  of  their 
^g,  taught  him  that  he  possessed,  as  Bishop  of  Rome,  re- 
*Ottrces  more  than  sufficient  to  restore  the  lost  sovereignty  of 
Central  Italy.  He  was  without  the  semblance  of  a  Court.  Few 
of  the  prelates,  and  not  the  best  of  them,  had  joined  him  in  his 

C  2  ft\^\Y\, 


20  Wolsey  and  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIII. : 

flight.  His  chief  adviser  in  this  most  arduous  conjunctur 
his  stormy  Pontificate  was  Lorenzo  Pucci,  Cardinal  of  Sj 
Quattro,  a  Florentine,  and  an  adherent  of  his  house,  who,  a 
the  death  of  Leo,  had  attempted  to  raise  him,  by  surprise  : 
acclamation,  to  the  vacant  throne.  To  many  sordid  vices  Pi 
added  the  qualities  of  energy  and  intrepidity,  which  his  ma 
wanted.  At  the  storming  of  Rome  he  was  the  only  Cardi 
seen  upon  the  walls.  He  was  struck  down  whilst,  with 
voice  and  his  example,  he  strove  to  rally  the  defenders,  ; 
climbed  into  the  Castle  through  a  window  after  the  gates  1 
been  closed.  He  had  been  Minister  under  Julius,  and,  for 
extortions  under  Leo,  men  said  that  no  punishment  was  too  bad 
him.  Wolsey  had  given  orders  that  money  must  not  be  spar 
but  Pucci,  who  was  noted  for  cupidity,  refused  a  present 
two  thousand  crowns,  and  could  never  be  made  to  swerve  in 
resistance  to  the  English  petitions.  He  drew  up  the  C( 
mission  which  Knight  asked  for,  with  alterations  that  mad< 
of  no  effect ;  and  he  baffled  the  English  envoys  with  such  add) 
that  the  winter  passed  away  before  Henry  had  obtained  i 
concession  that  he  could  use,  or  that  the  Pope  could  reasona 
regret. 

The  dolninant  purpose  was  to  gain  time.  The  Emperor, 
receiving  the  messages  of  Catharine  and  Mendoza,  immedial 
insisted,  through  his  Viceroy  at  Naples,  that  Wolsey  sho 
be  forbidden  to  act  in  the  matter,  and  this  demand  read 
Clement  whilst  still  surrounded  by  the  soldiery  that  had  sacl 
Rome  before  his  face.  He  had  now  become  free  ;  but  it  ^ 
the  freedom  of  an  exile  and  a  fugitive,  without  a  refuge  c 
protector  from  an  enemy  who  was  supreme  in  the  Peninsula.  T 
instrument  which  the  skill  of  Pucci  had  made  innocuous  i 
unavailing,  appeared  to  him  charged  with  dreadful  consequent 
He  begged  that  it  might  be  suppressed.  His  dejection  m; 
him  slow  to  perceive  how  much  Henry's  intense  need  of 
spiritual  services  improved  his  political  position.  He  strove 
exclude  the  cause  from  his  own  direct  jurisdiction.  Hav 
consulted  with  Pucci,  and  with  Simonetta,  the  ablest  canoi 
in  Rome,  he  exhorted  Henry  to  obey  the  dictates  of  his  o 
conscience,  and  to  dismiss  the  Queen  and  take  another  wife 
he  was  convinced  that  he  could  lawfully  do  it.  Wolsc 
Legatine  powers,  or  the  Commission  lately  issued,  were  am 
for  the  purpose.  Once  married  to  Anne  Boleyn,  Henry  1 
nothing  to  fear.  But  if  he  waited  the  slow  process  of  law,  a 
gave  time  for  protests  and  appeals,  the  Emperor  might  com 
them  to  give  sentence  in  Rome.  Clement  deemed  that 
would  be  a  less  exorbitant  strain  of  his  prerogative,  and   1 

offens 


Mr.  Brewer*^  Calendar  of  State  Papers.  21 

oflensive  to  Charles  V.,  to  tolerate  the  second  marriage,  than  to 
anoal  the  first. 

Henry  Vlll.  consented  to  be  guided  by  Wolsey  against  the 
judgment  of  his  Council,  but  he  had  inclined  at  first  to  more 
summary  and  rapid  methods,  and  the  mission  of  Knight  in 
the  autumn  of  1527  showed  that  he  was  slow  to  abandon  that 
alternative.  That  he  should,  nevertheless,  have  rejected  an 
expedient  which  was  in  the  interest  of  those  to  whom  he 
habitually  listened,  which  was  recommended  by  his  own  strong 
passions,  and  which  the  confidential  counsel  of  the  Pope  invested 
with  exceptional  security,  is  the  strangest  incident  in  the  history 
of  the  Divorce.  Wolsey's  influence  is  insufficient  to  explain  it ; 
for  Clement  repeated  his  advice  after  Wolsey's  fall,  and  yet  three 
years  passed  before  Henry's  tenacity  yielded.  In  March  1530, 
the  Pope  was  at  Bologna,  holding  conference  with  the  newly 
crowned  and  reconciled  Emperor.  Charles  V.  required  him  to 
threaten  Henry  with  anathema  and  interdict  if  he  should  contract 
a  second  marriage  pending  judgment  on  the  first  Clement 
could  not  resist  the  demand,  but  he  yielded  reluctantly.  He 
put  forth  a  Bull  in  the  terms  which  the  Emperor  required.  But 
in  private  he  expressed  a  wish  that  his  menace  might  be  vain, 
and  that  the  King's  purpose  might  be  accomplished  without 
involving  him  in  complicity.  These  words  were  spoken  in 
Kcret ;  and  at  Orvieto  also  Clement  had  desired  that  his  advice 
should  be  attributed  to  the  prelates  who  were  about  him.  Henry 
may  well  have  feared  that,  after  taking  an  irrevocable  step,  he 
niight  be  compelled  to  purchase  indemnity  by  some  exorbitant 
sacrifice ;  or  he  may  have  apprehended  in  1528  what  happened 
five  years  later,  that  the  Pope,  compelled  by  the  Emperor,  would 
excommunicate  him  for  disobeying  his  injunctions.  Having 
taken  his  stand,  and  resolved  to  seek  his  end  on  the  safer  ground 
of  submission  and  authority,  he  refused  to  abandon  it. 

All  the  auspices  at  first  favoured  Henry,  and  every  prejudice 
told  against  the  Emperor,  whose  crafty  policy,  while  it  enabled 
i'Utheranism  to  establish  itself  in  Germany,  had  inflicted  irre- 
prable  injury  on  the  See  of  Rome.  The  sympathies  of  the 
Roman  Court  were  as  decided  on  one  side  as  they  might  be  now 
^n  a  dispute  between  the  head  of  the  House  of  Bourbon  and 
tte  head  of  the  House  of  Savoy.  Henry  VIII.  had  given, 
during  a  reign  of  eighteen  years,  proofs  of  such  fidelity  and 
attachment  as  had  never  been  seen  on  any  European  throne. 
No  monarch  since  Saint  Lewis  had  stood  so  high  in  the  con- 
fidence and  the  gratitude  of  the  Church.  He  had  varied  his 
alliances  between  Austria,  France,  and  Spain ;  but  during  four 
Warlike  ponti  fie  ates  Rome  had  always  found  him  at  its  side.  He 


22  WoUey  and  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIIL: 

had  stood  with  Julius  against  Maximilian  and  Lewis,  with  Leo 
against  Francis,  with  Clement  against  Charles.  He  had  wel- 
comed a  Legate  in  his  kingdom,  where  none  had  been  admitted 
even  by  the  House  of  Lancaster.  He  was  the  only  inexorable 
represser  of  heresy  amon^  the  potentates  of  Europe;  and  he 
permitted  the  man  to  whom  the  Pope  had  delegated  his  own 
authority  to  govern  almost  alone  the  councils  of  the  State. 

No  testimony  of  admiration  and  good  will  by  which  Popes 
acknowledge  the  services  of  kings  was  wanting  to  his  character 
as  the  chosen  champion  of  religion.  The  hat,  the  sword,  and 
the.  golden  rose  had  repeatedly  been  sent  to  him.  Julius,  in 
depriving  Lewis  XIL  of  his  designation  of  the  Most  Christian 
King,  had  conferred  it  upon  Henry ;  and  he  bore,  before  Luther 
was  heard  of,  the  title  of  Defender  of  the  Faith.*  His  book  was 
not  yet  written,  when  Leo  X.  convoked  the  cardinals  in  order 
that  they  might  select  a  title  of  honour  worthy  of  such  services 
and  such  fame  ;  and  it  was  suggested  in  the  Consistory  that 
Henry  deserved  to  be  called  the  Angelic  King.f  His  bitterest 
enemy,  l^ole,  averred  that  no  man  had  done  more  for  Rome,  or 
had  been  so  much  beloved.  Such  was  his  reputation  in  Christen- 
dom that  when  he  talked  of  putting  away  a  wife  who  was  stricken 
in  years  to  marry  a  bride  in  the  early  bloom  of  her  beauty,  the 
world  was  prepared  to  admire  his  scruples  rather  than  to  doubt 
his  sincerity.  Clement,  though  not  without  suspicions,  sufferetl 
them  to  be  allayed.  He  spoke  of  the  case  as  one  which  was 
beyond  his  skill,  but  which  no  divine  was  more  competent  to 
decide  than  Henry  himself.  Campeggio  declared,  even  at  the 
Imperial  Court,  his  belief  that  Henry's  doubts  were  real- 
Cajetan  wrote  of  him  in  1534,  Cochlspus  in  1535,  with  the  full 
assurance  that  he  had  been  deceived  by  others,  and  that  his 
own  religious  knowledge  was  teaching  him  to  discover  and  to 
repair  the  error  of  his  advisers.  After  the  final  condemnation 
had  been  pronounced,  a  prelate  engaged  in  the  affair  wrote  to 
him  in  terms  implying  that  in  Rome  it  was  understood  that  be 
had  been  led  astray,  not  by  passion  but  by  designing  men.  Even 

*  *  Regia  etiam  Mojestas  sagre  fert  quod  de  titulo  defensoris  sanctsB  Fidei  nibil 
adhue  acceperit,  quasi  ejus  sanctitas  ea  re  timuerit  Gallos  oflfondere.* — Wol»ey, 
Desp.,  May  22,  1517.    Martene,  Amplis^ima  Cdlectio,  iii.  1274. 

t  *  Cardinalis  de  Fli^sco  tunc  primus  in  ordine  Curd,  in  Consistorio  existentiutUt 
dixit  sibi  videri  quod  posset  seribi  et  denominari  pius,  seu  pieutissimus.  PapA 
dicebat  qurxl  forsitan  posset  denominari  Rex  Apostolicus.  Nounulli  exCardinali- 
bus  dicebant  velle  scire  causam  propter  ouam  dicto  regi  hujusmodi  titulus  con* 
cederctur,  ut  melius  discuti  posset  qui  titulus  ei  concedendus  foret.  Alius  dicebat 
denominandum  rep^cm  Fidelem,  alius  Angelicum,  tanquam  ab  Augliu,  alius  Ort1)<^ 
doxum,  alius  Ecclosiasticum,  alius  Protectorem/ — Acta  Consistorialia,  June  l^*- 
1521.  A  slightly  different  report  of  this  curicus  debate  may  be  found  in 
Lfimmer^s  Meletematum  MautigfOf  10i». 

Paul 


Mr.  Brewer'*  Calendar  of  State  Papers.  23^ 

Paul  III.  protested  that  he  had  made  Fisher  a  Cardinal  in  the 
belief  that  Henry  would  esteem  the  elevation  of  his  subject  a. 
compliment  to  himself. 

The  good  faith  of  Henry  was  attested  by  an  imposing- 
array  of  supporters.  The  Nuncio  came  to  Rome  to  plead  hit 
cause.  Stanleo  and  Simonetta,  the  foremost  judges  of  the  Rota^ 
admitted  that  it  was  just.  Two  French  bishops  who  had  visited 
England,  and  who  afterwards  became  cardinals,  Du  Bellay- 
and  Grammont,  persistently  supported  it.  Cardinal  Salviati 
entreated  Clement  to  satisfy  the  English  demands.  Wolsey,. 
on  whom  the  Pope  had  lavished  every  token  of  his  confidence  ;:. 
Warham,  the  sullen  and  jealous  opponent  of  Wolsey,  who  had 
been  primate  for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  and  who  was  now  an  old 
man  drawing  near  the  grave ;  Longland,  the  Bishop  of  Lincoln,* 
the  King's  confessor,  and  a  bulwark  against  heresy — all  believed 
that  the  marriage  was  void.  The  English  bishops,  with  one 
memorable  exception,  confirmed  the  King's  doubts.  The 
Queen's  advisers  Clerk,  Standish,  Ridley  successively  deserted 
ber.  Lee,  the  adversary  of  Erasmus,  who  followed  Wolsey  at 
York,  and  Tunstall,  the  Bishop  of  London,  who  followed  him. 
2t  Durham,  went  against  her.  The  most  serious  defection  was» 
that  of  Tunstall ;  for  the  school  of  Erasmus  were  known  to 
oppose  the  Divorce,  and  of  the  friends  of  Erasmus  among  the. 
English  clergy,  Cuthbert  Tunstall  was  the  most  eminent.  He 
IS  the  only  Englishman  whose  public  life  extended  through  all 
the  changes  of  religion,  from  the  publication  of  the  Theses  ta 
tbe  Act  of  Uniformity.  The  love  and  admiration  of  his 
greatest  contemporaries,  the  persecution  which  he  endured 
Wider  Edward,  his  tolerance  under  Mary,  have  preserved  his 
name  in  honour.  Yet  we  may  suspect  that  a  want  of  generous 
*pd  definite  conviction  had  something  to  do  with  the  modera- 
tion which  is  the  mark  of  his  career.  He  reproved  t  Erasmus 
for  his  imprudence  in  making  accessible  the  writings  of  the 
^ly  Fathers ;  and  in  the  deliberations  touching  the  separation, 
'rom  Rome,  in  the  most  important  Session  of  the  Parliament  of 
*^ngland,  when  he  was,  by  his  position,  his  character,  and  his 
teaming,  the  first  man  in  the  House  of  Lords,  he  allowed  him- 
^W  to  be  silenced  by  an  order  from  the  King.  Tunstall 
informed  Catharine  that  he  had  abandoned  her  cause  because 
"c  believed  that  she  had  sworn  a  false  oath. 


*  Chapays  calls  him :  *  Principal  Promoteur  ct  bratjscur  de  ct-  Divorce*. — Le- 
0'^nd,Leitre«  d  Burnet,  141. 

t  'Cm  etiam  si  germaoa  bit  Origenis,  et  non  ab  icmulis  addita,  vetir.^s  omncft  - 
J^gantur.    Quarc  optassem  mngis  delituisse  non  versam.* — Tunstall  to  Erasmue^ 
^  24, 1529.    Bunker,  SpicUegium,  xviii.  13. 


24  Wolsey  ami  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIIL : 

Nor  did  the  conduct  of  the  most  distinguished  Engli 
laymen  confirm  the  reported  unpopularity  of  the  Divorce.  It 
certain  that  Sir  Thomas  More  and  Reginald  Pole  were  cc 
scientiously  persuaded  that  the  Queen  was  a  lawful  wi 
Pole  had  moreover  an  almost  personal  interest  to  presei 
inviolate  Mary's  right  to  the  Crown  ;*  and  he  wrote  in 
defence  with  such  ability  and  persuasiveness,  that  Crann 
thought  he  would  carry  the  whole  country  with  him  if  i 
book  became  known.  Yet  Pole  allowed  himself  to  be  emplo} 
in  obtaining  the  assent  of  the  University  of  Paris,  and  accept 
his  share  of  merit  and  responsibility  in  a  success  which  c 
Henry  more  than  a  million  of  francs. 

Sir  Thomas  More  had  defended  divorce  in  the  most  fame 
work  that  England  had  produced  since  the  invention  of  printii 
The  most  daring  innovator  of  the  age,  he  had  allowed  his  sen 
ments  to  be  moulded  by  the  official  theology  of  the  Coi 
Under  that  sinister  influence,  More,  the  apostle  of  Tolerati< 
who  had  rivalled  Tertullian  and  Lactantius  in  asserting  1 
liberty  of  conscience,  now  wrote  of  the  Lutherans  such  words 
these : — *  For  heretykes  as  they  be,  the  clergy  dothe  denoui 
them.  And  as  they  be  well  worthy,  the  temporaltie  doi 
burne  them.  And  after  the  fyre  of  Smythfelde,  hell  doi 
receyve  them,  where  the  wretches  burne  for  ever.'  Hei 
supposed  that  a  man  whose  dogmatic  opinions  he  had  been  a 
to  modify  would  not  resist  pressure  on  a  subject  on  which  he  1: 
already  shown  a  favourable  bias.  More  was  steadfast  in  upho 
ing  the  marriage,  but  never  permitted  his  views  to  be  known.  . 
represented  to  Henry  that  he  was  open  to  conviction ;  that 
was  incompetent  to  pronounce  and  willing  to  receive  instr 
tion.  He  promised  to  read  nothing  that  was  written  in  fav< 
of  the  Queen.  So  reticent  and  discreet  a  supporter  could  not 
counted  on  her  side ;  and  More  consented,  as  Chancellor,  to 
ministerially  against  her.  He  assured  the  House  of  Commc 
that  Henry  was  not  urging  the  Divorce  for  his  own  pleasu 
but  solely  to  satisfy  his  conscience  and  to  preserve  the  s 
cession  ;  that  the  opinions  of  the  Universities  had  been  hones 
given,  and  that  those  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge  alone  w 
enough  to  settle  the  question.  Whilst  he  remained  in  power 
left  the  Queen  to  her  fate,  and  did  his  best  to  put  off  the  hour 
trial  that  was  to  prove  the  heroic  temper  of  his  soul. 


*  *  Catorina  ....  ncntiva  rimorso  nell*  animo,  et  hebbe  a  dir  che  non  mo; 
contcnta,   ve  ncl   faiiguc  clclla  Signora  Margarita  non  ritomava   la  spcro 
della  succeasione  di  quel  Kegno,  Kignificando  di  volere  maritar  la  figliola  con 
delli  figlioli  di  dotta  SSignora,  alii  quail   moetrava  grando  amore.'  —  Beccad 
Vita  del  Polo,  280. 

1 


Mr.  Brewer'^  Cakmlar  of  State  Papers.  25 

The  Bishop  of  Rochester,  indeed,  was  faithful  and  outspoken 

to  the  end  ;  but  his  judgment  was  not  safe  to  trust.     Death  for 

the  sake  of  conscience  has  surrounded  the  memory  of  Fisher 

with  imperishable   praise ;    but  at  that  time  he  was  the  one 

writer  among  our   countrymen   who  had  crudely   avowed    the 

conviction  that  there  is  no  remedy  for  religious  error  but  fire 

and  steel ;  and  the  sanction  of  his  fame  was  already  given  to 

the  Bloody  Statute,    and    to  a  century  of  persecution   and  of 

suffering  more  cruel  than  his  own.     Fisher  suspected  the  attack 

on*  the  Dispensation  of  concealing  a  design  against  the  Church  ; 

and  he  therefore    based   the  Queen's   defence  on   the    loftiest 

Msertion  of  prerogative.       His  examination  of  the  authorities 

was  able  and  convincing.     He  admitted  that  they  were  not  all 

on  his  side  ;  but  he  held  that  even  if  the  balance  had  leaneil 

heavily  against  him  it  would  not  have  injured  his  client.     The 

interpretation   of  law,  the  solution  of  doubts  pertained  to  the 

Pope ;  and  the  Pope  had  decided  this  dispute  by  the  undenia1>le 

act  of  dispensation.     The  question  might  have  been  difficult 

on  its  merits ;  but  there  was,  in  reality,  no  question  at  all. 

The   value  of   the    maxim,    that   the    fact  proves    the    right 
nad  just  then   been    seriously    impaired.       The   divine    whom 
i-eo  X.  appointed  to  encounter  Luther  had  invoked  that  prin- 
ciple.    It  was  absurd,  he  contended,  to  try  the  existing  system 
of  indulgences  by  the  rule  of  tradition,  when  it  was  plainly 
Jiistified  by  the  daily  practice  of  the  Church.     But  the  argument 
of  Prierias  was  discredited  by  Adrian  VI.,  who  readily  avowed 
^tat  there   had   of   late    been    grievous   abuse   of  power,    and 
that  dispensations  only  hold  good  if  they  are  granted  for  suffi- 
<^ent  cause.    It  was  a  source  oi  weakness  in  dealing  with  the  first 
'*g^ns  of  Protestantism  in  England  to  adopt  a  position  which  had 
«>een  so  recently  discarded  in  the  conflict  with  the  Reformation 
^  Germany.     But  Fisher  went  still  farther.     The  strength  of 
tt^  argument  for  the  Queen  was  that  a  prohibition  could  not  be 
*^solute  from  which  the  contingency  of  a  brother  dying  child- 
*^^s  had  been  specially  excepted.     But  her  advisers  would  not 
**^st  that  plea.     The  law  was  clearer  than  the  exception.     No 
'^^'other,  in  the  history  of  Christianity,  had  felt  bound  to  obey 
^^e  injunction  of  Deuteronomy.     The  prohibition  of  Leviticus 
^^A  been  almost  universally  observed.    This  objection  was  felt  so 
*^t*ongly,  that  Fisher  and  the  advocates  of  Catharine  contended 
^bat  even  if  the  Divine  law  forbade  the  marriage,  the  Divine 
law  must  yield  to  the  law  of  the  Church.*     Clement,  however, 

admitted 


*  The  Belgian  canoniBts  employed  for  Catharine  said :  *  Concedantur  omnia 
^Wgi,  quod  auctoritos  predicta  sit  juris  divini,  et  quod  factum  de  quo  est  quaestio, 

sit 


2G  Wokey  and  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIII, : 

admitted  that  the  right  to  dispense  against  the  law  of  God  was 
not  generally  assigned  to  him  by  divines,*  and,  being  so  little 
versed  in  books  himself  that  he  took  no  offence  when  men  spoke 
of  his  want  of  learning,  he  did  not  insist  on  it.  The  claim  was 
an  unsafe  ground  for  sustaining  the  marriage ;  for  the  marriage 
was  the  most  effective  precedent  by  which  papal  Canonists  sus* 
tained  the  claim.f  The  argument  was  set  aside  by  the  more 
cautious  disputants,  both  in  Rome  and  in  England ;  but  it  had 
done  the  work  of  a  signal  of  distress,  to  indicate  the  insecurity 
of  the  cause,  and  it  had  deepened  the  consciousness  of  division 
in  the  English  Church. 

The  shifts  by  which  several  writers  defended  the  marriage 
betray  much  perplexity.  One  divine  attributed  the  matrimo- 
nial troubles  of  Jupiter  and  Saturn  to  the  want  of  a  Papal  dis- 
pensation. Another  explained  that  the  prohibition  to  marry  a 
brother's  wife  had  crept  into  the  Pentateuch  by  the  fault  of  a 
transcriber.  It  was  commonly  believed,  by  a  mistaken  applica- 
tion of  a  pronoun  in  the  works  of  St.  Antoninus,  that  Martin  V., 
with  a  view  to  avoid  scandal,  had  permitted  a  man  to  marry 
his  own  sister  J  And  there  were  some  who  maintained  that  a 
man  might  marry  not  only  his  sister,  but  his  grandmother, 
and  even  his  own  mother  or  daughter. 

The  reasons  submitted  on  the  part  of  Henry  VIII.  for  suspecting 
the  validity  of  his  marriage  were  presented  with  such  modera- 
tion, and  such  solicitude  to  avoid  disparaging  the  Papal  power, 
that  they  explain,  apart  from  the  weighty  considerations  of  in- 
terest, the  long  hesitation  of  Rome.  The  maxim  that  a  dispen- 
sation, to  be  good,  must  be  warranted  by  sufficient  reason,  was 
generally  admitted  by  canonists  ;  and  Julius,  in  excusing  his 
delay,  had  said  that  a  dispensation  opposed  to  law  and  good 
morals  can  be  justified  only  by  necessity.  Assuming,  therefore^ 
in  principle,  his  right  to  perform  the  act,  the  question  raised 
was,  whether  necessity  had  been  shown,  and  whether  the  motives 
alleged  by  the  petitioners  were  adequate  and  true.     The  English 

bit  in  tenniiiis  affiuitutis,  nuUatcnus  tamen  illi  concedcndum  est,  qwod  Pont,  non 
licuerit  etiam  hoc  casu  dibpensnro.  .  .  .  Gum  maximo  consensu  et  cationum  cou- 
sulta  et  prudontum  responsn  pontifici  juris  divini  dcclarandi.  interpretandi,  linii- 
tandi,  et  contra  illud  dispcnsandi  potostatera  concedant.' — Fisher,  De  CauM  Matrt- 
monii,  p.  42,  writes:  *Nullis  argiunentationibus  diffiniri  potest,  sed  solius  Pont, 
interpretatione.* 

*  The  Pope  said  to  Casalo  on  Christmas  Day,  1529,  that  all  the  divines  are 
against  the  power  of  the  Pope  to  dispense  in  such  a  case. — Breicer,  iv.  6103. 
Gardiner  wrote  on  the  21st  of  April:  *  Tlie  Pope  will  hear  no  disputation  as  t<^ 
his  power  of  dispensing.  He  seems  not  to  care  himself  whether  the  cau^  In- 
decided  by  that  article  or  no,  so  he  did  it  not.' — 5476. 

t  *Quod  Paptv  possit,  ex  ^cstia  llom.  Pont,  patet  .  ...  Modema  quoqiu- 
Kegina  Anglia)  consummaverat  i)rius  matrimonium  cum  olim  fratre  istius  Kegi> 
AnglisD  sui  raariti.' — Cajetan,  in  Smnmam,  Sec.  SectindXj  154,  9. 

argued 


Mr.  Brewer'*  Calendar  of  State  Papers.  27 

ai]g[aed  that  Henry  VII.   and  Ferdinand  V.  had  deceived  the 

Pope  with  false  statements.  Henry  had  pretended  that  without 
the  marriage  there  was  danger  of  war ;  yet  he  made  it  manifest 
that  no  such  urgent  purpose  of  public  welfare  existed.  The 
dispensation  had  no  sooner  reached  his  hands  than  he  con* 
fessed  that  it  was  not  wanted,  by  causing  his  son  to  make  a 
solemn  protest  that  he  did  not  mean  to  use  it.  Henry  VII.  sur* 
vired  four  years  longer,  persisting  in  his  determination  to  pre- 
vent the  match.  It  was  said  that  he  was  troubled  in  con- 
science ;  *  and  Erasmus  affirms  that  extraordinary  pressure  was 
afterwards  required  to  induce  Henry  VIII.  to  recant  his  protest 
and  to  marry  Catharine. 

Her  father,  though  more  deeply  interested  than  Henry  VII. 
iu  securing  her  marriage,  refused  for  many  years  to  pay  the 
money,  without  which,  according  to  the  agreement,  there  was  to 
be  no  wedding.  The  plea  of  political  necessity  for  a  dispen- 
sation, which  was  repudiated  as  soon  as  received,  and  was  not 
employed  during  six  years  from  the  date  of  the  first  demand,  was 
nothing  but  a  transparent  pretence. 

To  this  was  added  another  argument,  calculated  Anmeasurably 
to  facilitate  the  task  of  the  Pope.  Ferdinand  assured  him  that 
Prince  Arthur  had  been  too  young  for  marriage,  and  that 
Catharine,  during  her  short  union  with  a  failing  invalid,  had 
not  contracted  the  supposed  affinity. f  The  dispensation  might 
therefore  be  granted  easily  without  the  presence  of  those  cogent 
reasons  which,  in  ordinary  circumstances,  would  be  required  to 
niake  it  valid.  He  was  willing,  to  satisfy  English  scruples,  that 
the  Bull  should  provide  for  the  opposite  conditions ;  but  he 
insisted  that  no  such  provision  was  necessary  for  the  security  of 
his  daughter's  conscience,  or  of  her  legal  position.  The  Bull 
^as  drawn  to  meet  the  wishes  of  the  English,  but  in  terms 
which  significantly  indicated  the  influence  of  the  Spanish  repre- 
sentations. 

Julius  had  promised  it  at  the  eve  of  his  election,  and  he 
granted  it  by  word  of  mouth  immediately  after.  Nevertheless, 
the  Bull  was  wrung  from  him  with  great  difficulty  after  a  year's 

'*y>  by  accident  rather  than  consent.  When  Isabella  th<* 
^^tholic  was  dying,  she  implored  him  to  comfort  her  last  days 
^ith  the  sight  of  the  dispensation  which  was  to  secure  her 
daughters  happiness.     It  was  impossible  to  refuse  her  prayer. 


Ix>pez  to  Emannel,  Gairdner,  LeWus  of  Henry  VII.  iL  147. 
t  'Ahunque  en  el  dicho  capitulo  dizc  quel  matrimonio  do  la  dielia  priiicesa 
Duestra  hija  con  el  prlncipe  de  Gales  Arthur  ya  deffunto,  que  gloria  huya,  fiu; 
<^nsnmado,  pero  la  verdad  es  que  no  fue  consumado.  .  .  .  y  esto  cs  muy  cicrto  v 
»nuy  iiabido  donde  ella  ata.'— Ferdinand  to  Rojay,  Aug.  23,  1503. 

Against 


^8  Wolsey  and  the  Divorce  of  llenry  VIIL : 

Against  the  wish  of  Julius,  a  copy  was  sent  from  Spain  tc 
Henry  VII.,  and  the  authentic  instrument  could  not  be  with- 
held. But  for  this,  the  Pope  would  not  have  yielded.  To  the 
Cardinal  Adrian,  who  was  one  of  those  whom  he  had  appointetl 
to  advise  him  in  the  matter,  he  expressed  a  doubt  whether  sucL 
an  act  lay  within  his  power.  The  Cardinal  assured  him  thai 
the  thing  had  been  done  repeatedly  by  recent  Pontiffs. 

The  contention  was  that  these  statements  had  misled  tlu 
Pope  into  the  belief  that  he  was  doing  no  more  than  the  fact! 
amply  justified,  whilst  he  was  in  reality  exceeding  the  limiti 
which  all  his  predecessors  had  observed,  on  the  strength  of  facti 
which  were  untrue.  Unless  it  was  certain  that  neither  the  ima- 
ginary precedents  of  Adrian,  nor  the  pretended  motives  of  Henry 
nor  the  improbable  allegations  of  Ferdinand,  had  influence! 
the  decision  of  Julius  II.,  there  was  serious  ground  to  question  iv. 
validity. 

It  was  an  issue  charged  with  genuine  doubt,  and  not  neces- 
sarily invidious  in  the  sight  of  Rome.  Nothing  had  yet  occurre( 
to  fix  men's  minds  on  the  problem,  and  opinion  honestly  differed 
In  the  Frendi  and  English  Universities,  responses  favourable 
to  Henry  were  obtained  with  some  difficulty,  and  against  strong 
minorities.  Although  jurists  in  Italy  could  not  earn  his  fe< 
without  risk  of  life,  famous  teachers  of  Bologna,  Padua,  anc 
Sienna,  whose  names  were  cited  with  reverence  in  the  Romai 
Courts,  approved  of  his  cause.  The  judgments  of  men  ii 
this  controversy  were  not  swayed  by  the  position  they  occupiec 
towards  the  Papacy.  Luther  strenuously  upheld  the  rights  o 
Catharine.  Sixtus  V.  declared  that  Clement  had  deservec 
the  sorrows  that  befell  his  Pontificate  by  permitting  so  ini(|uitou! 
a  marricigc  to  endure  so  long.  For  the  action  of  Julius  wai 
challenged  as  a  judge  of  fact,  not  as  a  judge  of  law.  Th< 
English  disputed  not  the  plenitude  of  his  authority,  but  th< 
information  which  had  determined  its  use ;  and  it  was  th< 
opinion  of  Clement  VII.  that  Julius  had  not  taken  due  pain 
to  ascertain  the  truth.*  The  gloss  of  almost  ostentatious  rcspec 
wore  off  in  the  friction  of  conflict.  But  it  was  essential  at  firs 
to  the  position  and  the  tactics  of  Wolsey.  Henry  appeared  ii 
the  character  of  an  affectionate  husband,  bewildered  in  con 
science  by  scruples  he  was  anxious  to  remove.  Nobody  couL 
bind  him  under  deeper  obligation  than  by  enabling  him  to  liv 
with  Catharine  undisturbed.  As  late  as  the  month  (»f  Ma 
1529,  long  after  this  fiction  had  become  contemptible,  Gardinc 

*  Clement  said  to  Cbarlcd  V.  at  Bologna :  *  Tlie  Popc*8  function  is  to  jiul^ 
whether  such  a  cause  lias  arisen :  but  nu  such  inciuiry  was  made,  or  judgmci 
given,  when  the  dUpensation  by  Julius  was  granted.' — Breicen  iv.  0103. 

hat 


Mr.  Brewer'*  Calendar  of  State  Papers.  29 

Lad  the  effrontery  to  say  that  Henry  still  lived  with  the  Queen 
on  nnaltered  terms.*^  But  Wolscy  soon  put  off  this  pretence ; 
for  if  the  only  difficulty  arose  from  a  defect  in  the  dispensation, 
the  Pope  could  have  afforded  relief,  as  the  Emperor  proposed^ 
by  an  act  in  more  ample  form. 

After  the  failure  of  Knight,  and  of  his  Italian  colleagues^ 
Wolsey's  tone  became  peremptory,  and  he  resolved  to  make 
bis  strong  hand  felt.  He  despatched  the  King's  almoner.  Fox, 
with  his  own  secretary,  Gardiner,  a  man  who  had  been  engaged 
in  the  hidden  work  of  the  preceding  May,  and  who  was-  fitted 
to  encounter  the  Roman  jurists  on  their  own  ground,  unswayed 
by  shame  or  fear.  He.  charged  them  to  make  Clement  under- 
stand that  Henry's  determination  to  put  away  Catharine  was 
founded  on  secret  causes  lying  deeper  than  love  for  Anne  Boleyn, 
causes  which  neither  the  removal  of  his  scruples  nor  any  other 
remedy  could  touch ;  and  that  it  would  be  executed,  if  neces- 
saiy,  independently  of  Rome.  That  course  would  imperil  the 
succession,  would  overthrow  Wolsey,  and,  in  the  presence  of 
advancing  Lutheranism,  would  ruin  the  Church  in  England. 
It  was  the  Pope's  interest,  therefore,  as  much  as  his  own,  that 
the  thing  which  could  not  be  prevented  should  be  done  with 
full  religious  sanction  ;  that  an  act  of  deference  on  one  side 
should  be  met  on  the  other  by  an  act  of  grace.  He  wrote  at 
the  same  time  to  Or^'ieto  that  the  instruments  granted  to  Knight 
wpre  little  better  than  a  mockery,  and  that  he  regarded  the 
hostile  influence  of  the  Emperor  as  the  only  obstacle  he  had  to 
overcome. 

Ganliner  was  charged  to  obtain  a  Bull  for  Wolsey,  in  con- 
junction with  a  Roman  Cardinal,  directing  them  to  try  the 
cause,  and  if  they  should  be  satisfied  of  certain  facts,  which  he 
thought  it  not  difficult  to  establish,  to  declare  the  marriage  null 
*nd  void.  Next  to  this  joint  commission,  he  preferred  one  for 
*  Roman  Legate  alone.  In  the  last  extremity  he  would  accept 
one  for  the  two  English  Archbishops  ;  but  he  would  not  act  by 
biniself.  The  Bull,  as  Wolsey  drafted  it,  made  a  defence 
''n possible,  made  the  trial  a  mere  formality,  and  virtually  dis- 
solved the  marriage.  Both  Fox  and  Gardiner  declared  that 
It  Would  be  hazardous  to  rely  on  powers  obtained  in  so  dis- 
&^ceful  a  manner.  They  nevertheless  attempted  to  obtain  the 
*^ull,  hoping  that  it  might  be  useful  at  least  for  the  purposes 
^*  intimidation  and  coercion. 

The  English  envoys  found  the  Pope  in  the  dwelling  of  Car- 
dinal Ridolfi,  Bishop  of  Orvieto,  beneath  the  shadow  of  the 


♦  Breicfr,  iv.  riri29. 

gorgeous 


30  Wolsey  and  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIII. : 

gorgeous  cathedral,  but  surrounded  by  solitude  and  desolatioi 
occupying  a  bare  unfurnished  chamber,  and»eating  out  of  earther 
ware.  At  his  first  step  Gardiner  fell  into  an  ambush.  Clemer 
inquired  after  Wolsey,  touching  a  report  that  he  was  against  th 
divorce.  Gardiner  eagerly  testified  to  his  zeal  in  its  favoui 
The  Pope  replied  that,  in  that  case,  he  would  not  be  accepter 
as  an  impartial  judge.  During  two  long  interviews  he  met  th 
strenuous  exertions  of  the  Englishman  with  imperturbabl 
temper  and  dexterity.  He  was  ready  to  appoint  Legates,  am 
to  coiifirm  their  sentence  ;  but  it  was  impossible  to  induce  bin 
to  favour  one  party  to  the  detriment  of  the  other,  in  the  manne 
of  the  proposed  Bull.  Gardiner  plied  his  arguments  wit! 
extreme  vigour.  Addressing  the  Pope,  and  the  small  g^ou] 
gathered  round  him,  he  protested  that  the  King  of  Englam 
asked  only  for  light  to  clear  his  conscience,  and  would  obey  th< 
word  of  the  Church,  whatever  it  might  be.  He  implored  then 
not  to  repulse  the  wanderer  who  came  as  a  suppliant  to  a  guide 
If  he  should  appeal  in  vain  to  the  Holy  See,  the  world  wouU 
say  that  they  were  deprived  of  wisdom,  and  that  the  Canon: 
which  were  unintelligible  to  the  Pope  were  only  fit  for  tin 
flames.  Pucci  and  the  other  prelates  listened  without  emotion 
for  they  were  persuaded  that  Henry  had  other  wishes  than  tc 
clear  up  doubts.  Clement  confessed  that  he  was  not  a  scholar 
and  that,  if  it  was  true,  as  men  averred,  that  all  law  was  locked  ii 
the  breast  of  the  Pope,  it  was  a  lock  to  which,  unfortunately,  \u 
had  no  key.  When  Gardiner  declared  that  Henry  would  helj 
himself,  if  Rome  refused  to  help  him,  Clement  replied  that  h< 
heartily  wished  he  had  done  it.  Finding  that  it  was  useless  to  asl 
for  the  Bull  that  Wolsey  wanted,  Gardiner  proposed  that  an  ad 
-defining  the  law  as  desired  should  be  given  privately,  for  fear  oi 
Spain,  never  to  be  produced  unless  Clement  refused  to  confirn 
the  sentence.  To  this  the  Pope  replied  that  if  the  thing  was 
just  it  should  be  done  openly ;  and  if  unjust,  not  at  all. 

At  length,  when  the  final  conference  had  lasted  during  man} 
weary  hours,  Gardiner,  believing  that  he  had  lost  his  cause, 
kindled  into  anger.  Gambara  and  Stafileo  were  present,  and 
he  exclaimed  that  they  had  made  themselves  tools  to  deceive 
and  to  betray  the  King.  Then  he  turned  fiercely  ag^nsl 
Clement,  and  denounced  him.  It  was  well,  he  said,  that  men 
should  know  how  Rome  treats  those  who  serve  her,  that  she 
may  find  no  succour  in  her  own  extremity,  and  may  fall  with 
the  consent  and  the  applause  of  all  the  world.  At  these  words 
the  Pope  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  strode  about  the  room,  waving 
his  arms,  and  crying  that  they  might  have  the  Commission  ai 
they   wished.     It   was   past   midnight,   on   Maundy  Thursday 

mornin": 


Mr.  Brewer'*  Calendar  of  State  Papers,  31 

morning,  when  he  yielded.  The  clauses  agreed  upon  were  not 
what  Gfiurdiner  wished  for,  hut  he  thought  them  sufficient.  They 
<lid  not  satisfy  Wolsey.  He  feared  that  the  cause  might  he 
taken  oat  of  his  hands,  that  the  rule  of  law  by  which  he  tried 
it  might  be  rejected,  that  his  judgment  might  be  reversed,  by 
Clement  or  by  his  successor. 

When  the  English  solicitations  reached  Clement,  in  the  last 

<iaj8  of  his  captivity  and  the  first  of  his  deliverance,  he  was 

weighed  down  by  terror  of  the  Spaniards,  and  he  promised  to  do 

more  for  Henry  whenever  the  approach  of  his  allies  made  it  a 

safer  task.     Lord  Rochford's  priest  was  sent  to  accelerate  the 

movements  of  Marshal  Lautrec,  who,  leaving  the  Pope  to  his 

fate,  had  wasted  precious  months  in  struggling  with  De  Ley  va 

for  the  possession  of  Lombardy.     At  length,  by  the  roads  that 

skirt  the  Adriatic,  Lautrec  marched  south,  and  for  the  last  time 

during  many  generations  the  French  flag  was  welcomed  in  the 

^dent  dominions  of  the  house  of  Anjou.      On  the   18t^  of 

February  the  Imperialists  evacuated  Rome.     They  were  speedily 

sbut  up   in   Naples   and  Gaeta,  and  up  to  the   gates  of  the 

"'rtregses  the   French   were   masters   of  the   country.     In   the 

'''oodiest  sea-fight  of  that  age,  the  younger  Doria,  arming  his 

§^ey-slaves,   destroyed   the   Spanish   fleet    in   the   waters    of 

^leroo.     Naples  was  blockaded.     The  stream  that  turned  the 

'^lls  of  the  garrison  was  cut  ofi*,  and  it  was  expected  that  the 

^\y  would  be  starved  out  before  Midsummer.     It  was  in  the 

''^^^st  of  these  changes  that  Clement  held  anxious  conference 

^}tix  the  energetic  Englishman  whose  speech  was  so  significant  of 

dinunished  reverence,  who,  as  Wolsey's  successor  at  Winchester 

^^s  soon  to  lend  his  powerful  aid  to  the  separation  of  England, 

aiifj  ^jjQ  lived  to  undo  his  own  work,  and  to  supply  history 

^^tli  the  solitary  example  of  a  nation  once  separated  returning 

voluntarily  to  union  with  Rome.     Wolsey  had  already  spoken 

^^  ^oing  over  to  Luther  when  the  Papacy  obstructed  his  designs ; 

^^X  Giberti  had  received  the  threat  with  scornful  incredulity. 

^'^cttiner^s  warnings  were  less  impressive  than  the  vast  change 

"^^t  was  just  then  occurring  in  the  condition  of  the  Peninsula. 

^^^m  April  to  July  French  ascendency  seemed  to  be  established  ; 

^^d  the  Spanish  commanders  informed  Charles  the  Fifth  that, 

'"^less  Naples  was  relieved  before  the  end  of  August,  his  dominion 

^f^^x  Italy  was  lost  for  ever.     During  those  four  months  Wolsey 

^^s  able  to  wring  from  Clement's  unsteady  hand  every  concession 

^«  Tequired. 

A  Commission,  dated  April  13,  1528,  gave  him  power,  in 
conjunction  with  any  English  Bishop  he  might  select,  to  try 
the  cause,  to  dissolve  the  marriage  if  the  dispensation  was  not 

proved 


32  Wolsey  and  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIII. : 

proved  to  be  valid,  and  to  do  all  things  that  could  be  done  bj 
the  Pope  himself.  A  second  document  of  the  same  tenour  wa 
directed  to  Wolsey  alone  ;  but,  as  it  has  not  been  found  in  thi 
country,  was  probably  never  sent  The  first  was  not  employed 
as  both  Henry  and  his  Chancellor  felt  that  they  would  not  b< 
safe  without  the  intervention  of  an  Italian  cardinal.  A  thin 
Commission,  enabling  them  to  decide  jointly  or  severally,  wa: 
therefore  issued  to  Wolsey  and  Campeggio.  Lest  these  immens< 
concessions  should  be  neutralised  by  Spanish  influence,  thej 
were  further  secured  by  a  written  promise.  Clement  declared 
on  the  solemn  word  of  a  Roman  Pontiff,  that,  considering  th< 
justice  of  the  King's  cause,  whose  marriage  transgressed  divin< 
and  human  law,*  he  would  never  revoke  the  powers  he  hac 
granted,  or  interfere  with  their  execution ;  and  that  if  he 
should  do  anything  inconsistent  with  that  promise,  the  ac 
should  be  null  and  void.  He  went  still  farther.  He  entrustei 
to  Campeggio  a  decretal  similar  to  that  which  he  had  formerly 
refused,  declaring  the  dispensation  valid  only  in  the  event  that 
the  assurance  given  to  Pope  Julius  by  Ferdinand  of  Aragon  wa^ 
true.  This  important  document  was  never  to  leave  the  Legate': 
hands,  and  was  to  be  seen  by  none  but  Wolsey  and  the  King 
At  the  end  of  July,  when  the  fortunes  of  Spain  were  at  the 
d<irkest,  Campeggio,  thus  provided,  set  out  for  England. 

Wolsey,  relying  on  their  own  friendship  and  on  the  benefits 
of  Henry,  made  choice  of  Campeggio  as  early  as  Decembei 
1527.  Gardiner  w^  persuaded  that  the  cause  would  be  safe  in 
his  hands,  and  Clement  encouraged  the  belief.  But  Casale,  who 
knew  the  ground  better  than  Gardiner  or  Wolsey,  remonstrated 
against  the  choice.  The  Spaniards  reported  that  the  Pope  had 
given  Henry  leave  to  have  two  wives ;  and  as  it  was  commonly 
supposed  that  the  Cardinal  was  sent  to  enable  him  to  gain  his 
purpose,  he  was  compelled  to  travel  by  roads  that  were  safe 
from  the  incursions  of  Imperialists.  Charles  the  Fifth,  con- 
vinced that  the  cause  was  lost  if  tried  in  England,  wrote  that  il 
must  be  prevented  at  all  costs,  and  lodged  a  protest  againsi 
Campeggio's  mission.  Contarini,  the  wisest  and  best  of  the 
Italian  public  men,  saw  the  Legate  at  Viterbo,  and  judged  from 
his  conversation  that  the  Emperor's  fears  were  groundless- 
Another  eminent  Venetian,  Navagero,  who  met  him  at  Lyons, 
found  that  it  was  not  his  intention  to  content  the  King.  Th« 
Pope  himself  wrote  to  the  Emperor  that  the  legates  were  no' 
to  pronounce  sentence  without  referring  to  Rome ;  and  Charles 

*  Gardiner  thought  the  first  words  of  tliis  document,  *  justiciam  eius  cause  peff 
pendentes,*  the  most  decisive  of  nil  the  concessions  mane  by  Clement. — Bretee^ 
iv.  5476. 

thereupo:a 


Mr.  Brewer*^  Calendar  of  State  Papers,  33 

thereupon  assured  Catharine  that  she  had  nothing  to  apprehend 
from  Campeggio.* 

The  origin  of  his  elevation  had  been  a  successful  mission  to 
Austria,  to  detach  Maximilian  from  the  schism  of  Pisa ;  and  it 
was  by  that  emperor's  influence  that  Campeggio  obtained  his 
mitre  and  his  hat.  His  conduct  in  two  conclaves  caused  him 
to  be  ranked  among  the  most  decided  Imperialists,  and  Clement 
informed  Contarini  that  he  belonged  to  the  Imperial  interest. 
In  1529,  when  a  vacancy  was  expected,  during  his  absence 
in  England,  he  was  to  have  been  one  of  the  Austrian  candidates. 
After  his  return  he  was  zealous  in  the  Queen's  cause :  he  was 
one  of  the  three  cardinals  who  countersigned  the  Bull  threatening 
Henry  with  excommunication  ;  and  it  was  he  who,  in  conjunction 
with  Cajetan,  procured  his  final  condemnation. 

Campeggio  foresaw  the  difficulties  awaiting  him.     He  was 
not  eager  for  the  encounter  with  Henry  and  Wolsey,  and  he 
spent  two  months  on  his  way.    Long  before  he  reached  England 
great  changes   had    occurred.      Doria   had    gone    over   to   the 
Eniperor.     Lautrec  was   dead.     The  blockade   of  Naples  was 
r^sed;  and  the  besiegers  had,  on  the  28th  of*  August,  capitu- 
lated to  the   garrison.      Five  messengers  pursued  Campeggio 
Earning  him    to  adjust  his    conduct   to  the  altered  aspect  of 
^Wngs,  and  imploring  him  to  do  nothing  that  could  excite  the 
displeasure  of  the  victor.     Clement  had  resolved  to  submit,  at 
^^y  sacrifice,  to  the  Imperialists. 

When  the  Emperor  learnt  how  vigorously  the  English  envoys 
^^re  labouring  to  extort  the  Pope's  assent  to  the  Divorce,  he 
'^Solved  to  tempt  him  by  splendid  offers.     He  would  restore  his 
^^xninions^  he  would  release  his  hostages ;    and  he  proposed 
f'i    alliance  by  marriage  between  their  houses.     Musetola,  who 
brought  these  proposals  early  in  June,  was  well  received  ;  and  it 
**H>ii  appeared  that  the  Pope  was  willing  to  abandon  the  League. 
*^    had  done  nothing  for  him.      There  was   no   hope    for  the 
*  ^pacy  in  Italy,  no  prospect  of  resisting  Lutheranism  in  Ger- 
^^ny,  except  through  Charles  V.     No  reliance  could  be  placed 
?^vr  in  the  French,  or  could  ever  have  been  placed  with  reason 
^^     the   Italian  confederates.      The  people  for  whom  Clement 
l^^d  raised  the  cry  of  national  independence,  in  whose  cause, 
identified  with  his  own,  he  had  exposed  the  Church  and  himself 
^  incalculable  risk,  and  had  suffered  the  extremity  of  humilia- 
tion and  ruin,  were  making  profit  out  of  his  disasters.     Venice, 

*  Gayangos,  537  :  *  I  am  certain,  because  the  Pope  writes  me  so,  that  nothing 

^*U  be  done  to  your  detriment,  and  that  tlio  whole  case  will  be  referred  to  him 

*t  fiome,  the  Cardinal's  secret  mission  being  to  advise  the  King,  your  husband, 

to  do  his  duty.'    This  was  written  on  the  margin  in  tlie  Emperor's  own  hand. 

Vol.  U3.—No.  285.  D  his 


34  Wolsey  and  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIIL  : 

his  intimate  ally,  had  laid  its  grasp  on  Cervia  and  Ravenna 
The  Duke  of  Ferrara,  a  papal  vassal,  occupied  the  papal  citic 
of  Modena  und  Reggio.  Florence,  his  own  inheritance,  ha 
cast  off  the  dominion  of  his  family,  and  restored  the  Republi< 
One  way  of,  recovering  all  things  remained  to  him.  He  mm 
put  away  the  ambition  of  Giberti  and  Sadolct;  he  must  accej 
Charles  as  the  inevitable  master  of  Italy,  and  stipulate  wit 
him  for  restitution  and  revenge.  Early  in  September  Clement 
resolution  was  taken.  In  October  he  returned  to  Rome.  A 
Christmas  he  bestowed  the  hat  and  sword  on  Philibert,  Princ 
of  Orange,  the  general  who  took  the  command  of  the  Imperialis 
when  Bourbon  was  struck  down  at  the  foot  of  the  Janiculun 
and  on  whom  rested  the  responsibility  for  the  unutterable  horrc 
of  the  sack  of  Rome.  When  Campeggio  arrived  in  Londoi 
things  had  gone  so  far  that  a  sentence  dissolving  the  marriag 
was  not  to  be  thought  of.  The  problem  that  taxed  his  ingenuit 
was  to  avoid  the  necessity  of  pronouncing  sentence  either  wa; 
at  least  until  the  Pope  should  be  sufficiently  assured  of  frienc 
ship  from  his  detested  enemy,  to  be  able  to  defy  the  resentmei 
of  his  ally. 

Campeggio's  instructions  were  to  elude  the  difficulty  by  ii 
ducing  Henry  to  desist,  or  by  prevailing  on  Catharine  to  retii 
to  a  convent.  If  these  resources  failed,  the  Pope  relied  on  h 
experience  to  find  means  to  protract  the  business,  and  put  c 
the  evil  day.  With  Henry  there  could  be  no  hope.  Durin 
the  summer  he  was  separated  from  Anne  by  the  sweating  sicl 
ness.  She  was  taken  ill.  The  King,  in  great  alarm,  mac 
ready  for  the  prospect  of  immediate  death.  He  resorted  wit 
fervour  to  works  of  religion.  He  confessed  frequently,  an 
practised  constant  penance  for  his  sins.  But  his  treatment  i 
Catharine  was  not  among  the  sins  of  which  he  was  taught  1 
repent.  He  hailed  the  Legate's  arrival  as  the  signal  of  h: 
approaching  deliverance,  and  made  open  preparation  for  a 
early  marriage.  At  Campeggio's  endeavours  to  change  his  pu 
pose  by  urging  the  danger  of  offending  Caesar,  he  became  indi^ 
nant  and  vociferous ;  and  the  Legate  could  do  nothing,  for  h 
hands  were  tied  by  the  secret  Bull. 

When  the  King  and  Wolsey  saw  that  document,  they  insiste 
that  it  should  be  shown  to  the  Council.  In  their  hands  it  wqul 
have  served  to  settle  the  controversy.  It  decided  the  point  c 
law  in  the  manner  desired  by  Henry.  The  Pope  having  dc 
clared  the  law,  they  could  judge  of  the  fact  without  him.  The 
had  got  from  Rome  all  that  they  absolutely  required ;  and  tb 
object  of  Wolsey's  policy  was  attained.  To  apply  to  the  case  i 
dispute  the  principle  laid  down  by  the  supreme  ecclesiastics 

authoritj 


Mr.  Brewer'*  Calendar  of  State  Papers.  35 

anthoritj,  an  inferior  authority  might  suffice.  Protected  by  the 
Ball,  they  would  incur  little  danger  in  following  Clement's  un- 
welcome counsel  to  help  themselves.  The  credit  of  Julius,  the 
consBtency  of  the  See  of  Rome,  were  sufficiently  guarded,  when 
Clement  determined  under  what  conditions  his  predecessor's 
act  was  legal,  and  Wolsey  determined,  on  evidence  unattainable 
at  Rome,  whether  the  conditions  of  legality  were  fulfilled. 

Wolsey  sent  to  Rome   to  require   that   Campeggio   should 
give  up  the  decretal.     If  it  had  been  produced  and  acted  on, 
the  Pope  could  expect  nothing  but  ruin.     The  responsibility 
of  the  Divorce  and  the  wrath  of  the  dreaded  Spaniard  would 
kavefcUen  not  on  those  who  applied  the  law  and  were  inac- 
cessible, but  on  him  who  had  laid  down  the  law,  and  who  was 
within  his  reach.     Clement  understood  his  danger.     He  lost  the 
«lf-cwnmand  which   had  ,not  deserted  him   in  the  most  dis- 
tressing emergencies.      Laying  his  hand  on    Casale's  arm,  he 
told  hini  to  be  silent,  and  then  burst  forth  in  reproaches  against 
tio  perfidy  of  Wolsey,  at  whose  urgent  prayer  and  for  whose 
*^e  alone  he  had  granted  the  secret  Bull.     He  detected  their 
^ject     With   the  Bull  before  them,  even  those  who  thought 
™  martiage  valid  would    give  it  up  on  the   Pope's   respon- 
sibility.     Let   them  dismiss  Campeggio,  on  the  plea  that  he 
^^s  slow  to  act,    and    accomplish   their    purpose    themselves, 
withoiit    involWng   Rome.      The   Bull    ought    to    have  been 
destroyed,  and  he  would  cut  off  a  finger  to  be  able  to  recall  it. 

Clement  at  once  despatched  an  envoy  to  make  sure  that  the 

perilous  document  should  remain  no  longer  exposed  to  accident 

^  treachery.     For  this  important  mission  he  selected  Francesco 

^^Hapana,  a  man  who  Ibng  enjoyed  the  confidence  of  his  family, 

^**o,kfter  the  fall  of  •  Florence,  proclaimed  to  the  people  the 

^*ll  of  the  conqueror,  that  the  Medici  should  reign  over  the 

y^publican  city,  and  who,  as  Secretary  of  State,  gave  efficient  aid 

w   tynilding  up  the  intelligent -despotism  of  Cosmo.  Campana 

^Veiled  slowly ;  and  when  he  reached  London,  with  the  order 

^0  bum  the  Decretal,  Clement  was  reported  to  be  dying.     To 

"^trojr  such  a  document  in  obedience  to  a  pontiff  who  was  pro- 

o^My  dead,   oil  the  eve  of  a  conclave,   would   have    been    the 

height  of  folly.     Campeggio  resolved  to  disobey.     In  the  spring, 

when  Clement  had  recovered,  Campana  brought  the  news  that 

the  Legate  had  yielded,*  and  the  most  memorable  writing  in  the 

uiitory  of  the  Divrirce  disappeared  for  ever. 

But 


*'Van:hi,  who  had  moans  of  infonnmg  himself  a1>oiit  Campana's  joumoy,  says 
that  ha  brought  the  Decretal  back  with  him  to  Rome.  But  Mr.  Stevenson  has 
discovered,  and  Mr.  Gairdner  has  deciphered  two  very  curious  letters  of  Cnm- 

D   2  peggio, 


38  Wolsey  and  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIII. : 

mended  a  safer  defence,  and  he  possessed  a  weapon  keen  enough 
to  defeat  all  the  art  of  Wolsey  and  his  master. 

Early  in  the  year  he  had  received  from  Spain  a  copy  of  a 
dispensation  in  the  form  of  a  brief,  which  expressly  excluded 
the  doubt  as  to  the  nature  of  the  first  marriage.  Soon  after 
Campeggio's  arrival  Catharine  sent  this  paper  to  the  Legates. 
It  contradicted  her  own  statement,  and  she  protested  that  she 
had  had  nothing  to  do  with  obtaining  it.  But  it  avoided  the 
reproach  which  had  been  so  damaging  to  the  Bull.  Wolsey 
was  taken  by  surprise.  The  plan  on  w^hich  he  had  pursued 
his  operations  so  long  was  overthrown  in  an  instant.  He  could 
not  abandon  his  system  and  attack  the  dispensing  power  itself. 
He  confessed  that  the  objections  taken  to  the  former  docu- 
ment did  not  here  apply  ;  but  he  declared  that  the  Brief  was 
spurious,  and  set  about  procuring  evidence  to  prove  it.  Yet 
for  many  months  Wolsey  remained  in  doubt  whether  the 
paper  which  frustrated  the  great  undertaking  of  his  life  was 
false  or  genuine.  The  reasons  for  suspecting  forgery  were 
stronger  than  he  supposed. 

The  Brief  was  unheard  of  until  the  need  for  it  became  appa- 
rent.  It  was  unknown  to  Charles  V.  when,  on  the  31st  of  July, 
1527,  he  suggested  that  the  Pope  should  supply  the  defects  of  the 
Bull.*  It  was  uncertain  whether  Clement  would  consent,  when, 
towards  the  end  of  the  year,  the  Brief  made  his  consent  unne- 
cessary. Its  existence  was  unexplained.  It  was  said  to  have- 
been  obtained  about  the  time  of  the  marriage,  in  1509  ;t  but  it 
was  dated  1503.  It  was  obtained  by  Ferdinand  ;  yet  Ferdinand 
did  not  possess  a  copy.  It  was  sent  to  England ;  but  it  was- 
admitted  that  it  had  left  England  before  the  marriage  for 
which  it  was  required.  Ferdinand  did  not  want  it,  for,  on  his- 
theory,  it  was  quite  unnecesary.  If  he  had  asked  for  it,  th 
Brief  would  have  been  addressed  to  him,  and  a  copy  would  have — 
been  treasured  up  in  Spain.  It  was  addressed  to  Henry  VII. — 
But  Henry  did  not  want  it ;  for  he  was  more  than  content  with—- 
the  original  Bull,  which  he  never  intended  to  use,  and  could-^ 
never  wish  to  amplify.  The  Brief  was  discovered  among:^ 
the  papers  of  the  Ambassador  De  Puebla,  who  had  left  England^ 
before  the  marriage,  and  who  was  now  dead.  A  list  of  alU 
his  papers  relating  to  the  marriage  is  still  extant,  and  th 
Brief    is    not  ^  among  them.J      Two    men    were    living    wh 


*  In  a  DcBpatch  to  Lannoy,  Buclici'.tz,  iii.  95. 

t  *  In  brevi  vero  quod  circiter  teinpiis  nuptianim  ut  conficeretur  ab  Ferdi  ^^ 
nando  Rego  Catbolico  procuratum  est.'— P/<rta?e^^«;  Jlyperhorei  rara8ceue,lSS^9 
p.  30. 

X  Bergenroth,  i.  471. 

coulcl 


Mr.  Brewer**  Calendar  of  State  Papers.  39 

could  have  given  valuable  testimony.     De  Puebla's  heir,  Fer- 
nandez, had  possession  of  his   papers.      He  was   reputed    an 
honest  man,  and  it  was  desirable  to  have  him  examined.     It 
appeared,  however,  that  he  had  just  been  sent  to  one  of  the  few 
places  in  Europe  which  were  beyond  the  reach  of  Henry  and 
the  jurisdiction  of  Charles — to  the  dominions  of  the  Earl  of 
Desmond.     Accolti,  the  Cardinal  who  in  the  name  of  Julius 
had  drawn  up  the  dispensation  a  quarter  of  a  century  earlier^ 
was  now   the  most   zealous  opponent   of  the   Divorce   in   the 
Court  of  Rome.     He  could  have  settled  the  doubt  whether  a 
Kcond  dispensation  had,  in  fact,  been  given.     Accolti  remained 
unpenetrably   silent.      Though   addressed  to   Henry  VII.,  the 
Brief  was    unknown    in   England.      It   formed   the    strongest 
security  for  the   honour  and  the  legal  position  of  a   Spanish 
Princess :  yet  it  did  not  exist  in  the  archives  of  Spain.     It  con- 
stituted the  most  extreme  exertion  of  the  Pope's  prerogative 
known  till  then  :  yet  Rome  preserved  no  record  of  its  existence. 
^^  April,    1529,  Charles  was  in  doubt  as  to  the  value  of  the 
"rief.*     He  was  willing  to  submit  it  to  the  Pope.     His  mind 
'^Ottld  not,  he  said,  be  at  rest  until  he  knew  whether  it  had  been 
j^Und  in  the  Roman  Registers.     His  doubts  were  soon  satisfied. 
£pie  Registers  were  subjected  to  the  scrutiny  of  Spanish  and 
-^Oglish  agents.     They  found  no  trace  of  the  Brief.!     Errors 
?^^re  detected  in  the  text.    A  vital  flaw  was  detected  in  the  date, 
^harles  never  sent  it  to  Rome  for  judgment ;  it  was  no  longer 
Ji^cessary.    The  Brief  had  served  to  delay  action  in  the  Legate's 
^^urt  until  the  Pope  was  reconciled  with  Spain. 

Wolsey  knew  that  delay  was  ruin.  To  strengthen  himself  at 
*M)ine  he  despatched  four  new  ambassadors.  He  offered  to 
•Unround  the  Pope  with  a  guard  of  two  thousand — or  even  of 
Welve  thousand — men ;  and  he  resorted  to  expedients  which 
showed  that  he  was  desperate.  He  would  resign  his  Com- 
mission and  leave  judgment  to  the  Pope,  with  a  pledge  that 
judgment  would  be  favourable.  He  inquired  whether,  if  Henry 
should  take  monastic  vows  to  induce  the  Queen  to  enter  a 
nunnery,  he  could  be  dispensed  from  them  and  allowed  to 
marry.  Lastly,  he  desired  to  know  whether  the  King  might 
have  two  wives.  These  proposals  were  soon  dropped,  and 
exerted  no  influence  on  the  event ;  but  they  show  the  condition 

♦  He  said  also  that  his  mind  was  not  quiet  until  he  knew  whether  tlie  Brief 
was  found  in  the  Begistry  at  Rome. — Ghinucci  and  Lee  to  Wolsey,  April  5, 1529. 
Brewer,  5423. 

t  *  Has  done  all  he  could  to  discover  in  the  register  books  a  copy  of  tlie  Brief, 
but  ia  vaiiL  Has  found  instead  two  other  briefs  alluding  to  the  affair.* — ^Moi  to 
Charles,  March  23, 1529.     Gayangos,  659. 

of 


40  Wolsey  and  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIIL : 

of  Henry's  mind,  and  the  extremity  to  which,  at  the  end  of  1528, 
Wolsfey  was  reduced.  By  the  first  he  surrendered  his  original 
position,  and  actually  invited  that  which  he  afterwards  described 
as  the  cause  of  an  inevitable  rupture  with  Rome.  The  scheme 
to  inveigle  the  Queen  into  a  convent  by  simulated  vows  might 
possibly  be  entertained  without  horror ;  for  it  was  supposed  to 
be  no  sin  to  take  an  oath  intending  to  be  dispensed  from  it. 
Francis  I.  swore  to  observe  the  Treaty  of  Madrid,  and  bound 
himself,  moreover,  on  his  knightly  honour.  On  the  same  day 
he  had  already  declared  before  a  notary  that  he  was  resolved  to 
break  the  oath  he  was  about  to  take  ;  and  his  perjury  was  gene- 
rally applauded.  Cranmer,  on  becoming  Archbishop,  closely 
followed  his  example.  If  the  desire  of  liberty  excused  Franicis 
in  deceiving  Charles,  Henry  might  plead  thathe, -.tolQ/'had  a 
justifiable  purpose  in  deceiving  Catharine.  The  right .  to  dis- 
pense from  vows  was  not  disputed.  •   . 

It  would  appear  that  the  proposal  of  bigamy,  which  iWas  now 
made  for  the  second  time,  never  reached  the  Pope.  The  idea 
that  the  trouble  might  be  healed  in  that  way  arose  spontaneously 
in  many  quarters.  The  Secretary  of  Erasmus,  writing  from  his 
house,  made  the  suggestion  that,  inasmuch  as  polygamy  was 
common  in  the  Old  Testament,  and  was  nowhere  forbidden  in 
the  New,  Henry  might  take  a  new  wife  without  dismissing  the 
first.  To  Luther  and  Melancthon  this  solution  appeared  most  easy 
and  desirable.  They  had  fought  hard  to  preserve  monogamy 
among  their  own  followers,  and  had  prevailed  upon  the  Landgrave 
Philip  of  Hesse  to  abstain  from  bigamy.  But  they  found  them- 
selves imable  to  make  the  prohibition  absolute.  In  Henry's  case 
they  thought  the  marriage  originally  wrong,  but  they  objected 
still  more  to  the  Divorce.  Luther  advised  that  the  King  should 
take  a  second  wife  rather  than  put  away  the  first ;  and  Melancthon 
thought  that  the  double  marriage  would  be  good,  and  that  the 
Pope  would  dispense  for  it.  The  Landgrave,  having  discovered 
this  correspondence,  renewed  his  demand,  and  the  Reformers 
were  compelled  to  sanction  his  crime.  The  agony  of  shame  with 
which  they  yielded  their  consent  suggests  a  doubt  whether  their 
advice  to  Henry  might  not  have  been  prompted  by  an  idea  of 
embarrassing  the  Catholics.  Twelve  months  earlier  Clement 
had  informed  the  English  agents  that  one  of  the  cardinals, 
doubtless  Cajetan,  had  told  him  that  it  was  in  his  power  to 
grant  a  dispensation  such  as  Melancthon  recommended.  But 
he  was  afterwards  advised  that  it  could  not  be  done.  Wolsey's 
proposal  was  in  reality  borrowed  from  the  theories  put  forward 
in  the  Queen's  behalf,  asserting  an  unlimited  power  of  dis- 
pensing. 

These 


Mr.  Brewer'*  Calendar  of  State  Papers,  41 

These  extraordinary  measures  for  resisting  the  Spanish  Brief 
were  interrupted,  in  January,  1529,  by  the  dangerous  illness  of 
Clement.     Once  -more  the  early  ambition  of  Wolsey  revived ; 
and  he  caused  the  Cardinals  to  be  overwhelmed  with  offers  of 
troops,  of  money,  of  political  and  spiritual  benefits.     The  hand 
of  the  spoiler  and  the  oppressor  had  not  departed  from  the  terri- 
tory of  the  Church.    The  Spaniards  still  detained  three  Cardinals 
as  hostages,  stilL  occupied  the   papa|  fortresses,  and  by  their 
control  of  the  sea,  commanded  ^e*  sources  from  which  Rome 
drew  its  supplies.     The  situation  yfj^  pne  to  which  the  French 
and  English  protest  against  an  election  held  under   Spanish 
influence  continued  applicable.     Wolsey  urged  his  friends  to 
leave  Rome,  to  hold  the  conclave  in  some  city  of  refuge,  and 
there  to  make  him  Pope.     One  half  of  the  college  shrank  from 
the  prospect  of  a  Spanish  Conclave,  and  made  ready  to  depart  as 
soon  as  the  Pope  should  be  dead.     The  imperial  agents  met  the 
threatening   schism  with  excellent  judgment.     They  released 
the  hostages ;  they  gave  up  the  fortresses,  which,  indeed,  they 
could  have  retaken  in  a  week ;  and  they  sent  to  the  Tiber 
vessels  laden  with  grain.     They  soon  received    their   reward. 
Clement,  in   making   his  farewell    to  the  Cardinals,  exhorted 
them,  if  he  died,  to  recal  Campeggio.    He  declared  that,  should 
"C  recover,  he  would  visit  the  Emperor  beyond  the  Mediter- 
'^'lean.      He   assured   the  French  agent   that  the   fee   simple 
^^  France  would  not  bribe  him  now  to  desert  the  Spaniards, 
'^hen  at  the  end  of  two  months  he  resumed. the  management 
*^^  aflfairs,  the  reconciliation  was  accomplished.     Charles  was 
fQpreme  in  the  court  of  Rome,  by  the  vivid  memory  of  his 
Resistible  power,  and  by  the  immediate  sense  of  the  priceless 
Value  of  his  friendship.     The  Cardinals  had  not  forgotten  the 
^wful  time  of  the  siege  and  the  sack  of  the  city.     In  February 
thej  were  still  hostile  to  the  Emperor.     In  March  the  Austrian 
^nts  at  Rome  write  that  they  have  448,000  ducats  to  dispose 
of;  and   the  resistance  of  the  hostile  Cardinals  melted  away 
rapidly. 

Clement  now  regarded  Wolsey  as  a  sort  of  antipope,  and  as 
a  personal  enemy  who  was  seeking  to  bring  instant  ruin  upon 
him  by  employing  a  writing  wrung  from  his  good  nature  by 
false  promises.  The  situation  of  the  year  before  was  reversed. 
He  had  relied  on  England  to  rescue  him  from  the  clutches  of  the 
Imperialists.  The  Emperor  was  now  his  protector  against  the 
machinations  of  Wolsey.  Gardiner,  when  he  saw  him  in  March, 
became  aware  that  all  his  pleas  were  vain.  The  English  had 
lost  as  much  ground  in  point  of  reason  and  justice,  as  of 
influence.     Contrasted   with    their  extravagant    demands,   the 

petitions 


42  Wolsey  and  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIIL  : 

petitions  of  the  Eniperor  were  moderate  and  jufet.  Wolsey  now 
required  that  the  Brief  should  be  delivered  up  to  him  ;  that 
sentence  should  be  given,  if  the  original  was  not  sent  to 
England;  that  the  Pope,  of  his  absolute  authority,  and  without 
inquiry,  should  declare  it  a  forgery.  •  He  ordered  Gardiner  to 
pretend  that  the  paper  containing  the  promises  of  the  Pope  had 
suffered  damage,  and  to  procure  his  signature  to  a  new  copy,  to 
be  drawn  up  in  stronger  terms,  by  representing  that  it  was 
unchanged. 

Tlie  Emperor  Qharlcs  V.,  and  Catharine  herself,  in  letters 
conveyed  secretly  to  the  hands  of  the  Pope,  insisted  with 
unquestionable  truth,  that  a'  tribunal  on  T^bich  this  man  sat  as 
judge  could  not  be  deemed  impartial.'  They  demanded  that 
the  cause  should  be  decided  at  Rome^  .wheife  Wolsey  himself 
had  so  lately  proposed  to  carry  it.  Clement  doubted  no  longer 
what  he  ought  to  do.  One  course  was  both  safe  and  just.  He 
did  not  indeed  believe  in  the  Spanish  dispensation :  but  he 
refused  to  condemn  it  on  an  ex  parte  argument,  if  every 
Spaniard  had  vanished  out  of  Italy.  He  would  rather  abdicate, 
he  would  rather  die,  than  do  what  Wolsey  asked  of  him.  He 
made  no  further  attempt  to  resist  the  appeals  of  the  Spaniards. 
But  he  was  oppressed,  at  intervals,  with  a  definite  expectation 
of  losing  the-  allegiance  of  England.  His  only  expedient  was 
delay.  Clement  was  unconvinced  by  Campeggio's  testimony 
to  the  innocence  o(  Anne  Boleyn.  The  King,  whose  passion 
had  endiJred  for  three  years,  might  become  inconstant ;  or 
Catharine  might  be  persuaded^  as  the  King  had  ceased  to  live 
with  her,  to  consent  that  the  favourite  should  occupy  her  place. 
Her  health  was  breaking,  and  he  would  have  given  the  riches 
of  Christendom  that  she  should  be  in  her  grave. 

In  April  the  envoys  of  the  two  branches  of  the  House  of 
Austria  formallv-  called  on  him  to  revoke  the  powers  of  the 
Legates,  and  {p^  bring  the  cause  before  the  judgment  seat  of 
Rome,  Gardiner  thought  that  it  would  have  been  madness  to 
resist.  Clement  consented.  On  the  9th  of  May  he  despatched 
a  nuncio  to  Barcelona,  with  full  and  final  powers  to  conclude  a 
treaty  with  the  Emperor.  Until  it  should  be  ratified,  and  the 
imperial  alliance  firmly  secured,  he  wished  to  postpone  the 
inevitable  shock  which  Henry's  disappointment  would  inflict 
on  their  long  friendship.  An  agreement  was  made  between 
Clement  and  Casale,  that  the  Commission  should  not  be  cancelled, 
but;  that  the  Legates  should  not  proceed  to  execute  it. 

Whfen  it  became  certain,  in  the  beginning  of  May,  that  there 
was  no  more  hope  from  Rome,  Wolsey's  fall  could  not  be  distant. 
Hi^  obstinate  determination,  in  spite  of  the  general  feeling  both 

in 


Mr.  Brewer**  Calendar  of  State  Papers.  43 

in  Rome  and  in  England,  that  there  should  be  no  divorce  without 
papal  sanction,  had  ended  by  making  the  divorce  impossible,  had 
brought  upon  the  country  the  affront  of  seeing  the  King's  capse 
removed  to  a  hostile  tribunal,  and  had  afforded  the  Emperor  a 
conspicuous  triumph  over  the  influence  of  England  in  a  matter 
chiefly  of  English  concern.  At  the  moment  when  he  was 
defeated  by  Spain,  he  was  deserted  by  France.  The  dissolution 
of  the  League,  and  the  ruin  of  his  armies  compelled  Francis  to 
give  up  the  struggle  for  supremacy  with  Charles,  and  to  submit 
to  a  dishonourable  peace.  Wolsey  had  traded  on  their  rivalry. 
It  was  the  obvious  and  superficial  secret  of  his  policy  to  sell  the 
hdp  of  England  to  each,  as  necessity  induced  one  to  outbid 
the  other.  Neither  of  the  Powers  had  an  interest  to  maintain 
the  statesman  who  had  alternately  betrayed  them,  and  they 
made  peace  at  his  expense.  Francis  accused  him  of  having 
intrigued  on  his  own  account  with  Rome.  His  treacherous 
reports,  sent  home  by  Suffolk,  and  aided  by  the  certainty  that 
Wolsey  had  misled  the  King,  strengthened  the  constant  asseve- 
ration of  his  enemies  that  he  did  not  sincerely  promote  the 
Divorce.  In  truth  he  had  striven  for  it  with  incessant  care. 
But  Du  Bellay,  Mendoza,  and  Campeggio  had  long  perceived 
that  his  zeal  was  stimulated  only  by  the  desire  to  save  himself ; 
and  he  had  implored  Henry  on  his  knees  to  give  up  his  will. 
When  it  was  announced  that  the  Commission  would  be  revoked, 
and  that  France  was  suing  for  a  separate  peace,  his  power  was 
gone.  He  besought  the  King  to  allow  him  to  attend  the  Con- 
gress at  Cambray.  The  two  men  who  were  thought  worthy  to 
succeed  him,  More  and  Tunstall,  were  sent  in  his  stead ;  and 
an  indictment  was  prepared  against  him. 

It  was  impossible  to  doubt  that  the  revocation  would  be  fatal 
to  Henry's  wishes.  That  which  Clement  dared  not  allow  his 
Legates  to  do  in  England,  he  would  not  do  himself  at  Rome, 
when  the  Emperor  had  disarmed  all  his  enemies,  and  was 
coming  in  triumph  to  visit  his  Italian  conquests  and  to  assume 
the  imperial  crown.  At  first  Henry  talked  of  appealing  from 
Clement  to  the  true  Vicar  of  Christ,  to  be  raised  up  in  his  place. 
But  he  was  soon  made  to  understand  that  the  potentate  who 
was  feared,  having  power  to  coerce  and  to  degrade,  was  the 
Emperor.  He  resolved  to  dissemble  his  anger.  Intercepted 
letters  exposed  the  Pope's  intentions,  and  taught  that  nothing 
would  be  gained  by  waiting  until  Clement  felt  himself  stronger. 
Something  might,  however,  be  gained  by  prompt  and  strenuous 
action.  Henry  resolved  to  take  advantage  of  the  delay  in 
revoking  the  Commission  to  force  on  an  immediate  decision, 
and  summoned  Gardiner  in  all  haste  to  conduct  the  case. 

The 


44  Wolsey  and  the  Divorce  of  Hemnj  VIIL : 

The  Imperialists  had  consented  that  the  revocation  should 
be  postponed  in  consequence  of  the  pledge  obtained  by  Clement 
that  nothing  should  meanwhile  be  done  in  England.  When  it 
was  found  that  the  pledge  was  broken,  and  that  Henry  em- 
ployed the  respite  to  urge  on  the  trial,  every  voice  in  Rome 
called  on  the  Fope  to  satisfy  the  just  claims  of  Spain.  The 
English  agents  confessed  that  no  choice  was  left  him,  and  bore 
witness  to  his  good  will.  Clement  protested  to  them  in  pathetic 
terms  that  the  Emperor  had  him  utterly  in  his  power.  He 
made  one  effort  more  to  get  the  Imperialists  to  assent  to  further 
delay,  but  they  repulsed  him  with  indignation.  They  believed 
that  he  was  seeking  an  opportunity  to  deceive  them.  Even  in 
the  following  year  Charles,  half  expected  that  Clement  would 
pass  over  to  the  English  side. 

Campeggio  had  been  instructed  to  create  delay  by  telling 
Henry  that,  if  he  must  give  judgment,  he  must  give  it  against 
him.  He  replied  by  asking  what  he  should  do  in  the  not 
improbable  event  of  the  judgment  being  in  Henry's  favour. 
Clement's  final  orders  were  to  proceed  with  the  trial  to  the  last 
stage  preceding  sentence,  and  then  to  adjourn  for  the  purpose 
of  consulting  Rome.  Campeggio  combined  both  methods. 
On  the  22nd  of  July  Clement's  irrevocable  determination  was 
known  in  London.  The  pleadings  were  completed.  The 
parties  awaited  judgment.  Campeggio  suddenly  adjourned  the 
Court  for  the  vacation,  announcing  that  he  must  consult  the 
Pope.  He  strove  to  comfort  Henry  by  assuring  him  that 
the  interruption  was  to  his  advantage,  as  the  sentence  would 
have  been  for  the  Queen. 

When  the  vessel  in  which  the  Legate  sailed  from  Dover  was 
boarded  by  the  custom-house  officers,  he  believed  that  his  last 
hour  had  come,  and  called  for  his  confessor.  The  officers  treated 
him  with  respect,  but  they  examined  his  luggage,  in  the  hope 
either  of  recovering  the  secret  Bull,  or  of  finding  evidence  that 
he  had  been  paid  by  Catharine.  Campeggio  returned  to  Rome 
with  the  renown  of  a  successful  mission.  Men  were  not  blind 
to  the  effects  which  were  to  follow.  But  they  followed  too 
remotely  to  disturb  the  present  joy  at  an  immense  deliverance. 
It  was  observed  for  the  first  time  after  years  of  anxiety  and 
depression,  that  Clement  VII.  held  up  his  head  and  walked 
erect. 

We  have  not  allowed  ourselves  space  to  follow  Mr.  Brewer's 
vivid  and  powerful  narrative  over  another  year  to  the  death  of 
Wolsey,  with  which  the  volume  ends.  Before  we  conclude  it  is 
necessary  that  we  should  advert  to  one  topic  on  which  we  have 
been  unable  to  accept  him  for  our  guide.     Touching  the  great 

question 


Mr.  Breyfem- Calendar  of  State  Papers.  45 

question  of  the  origin -'oif  the  Divorce,  Mr.  Brewer  wavers 
between  three  explanatiin[s*i:*-t-King  Henry's  scruples  grew  up 
in  the  recesses  of  his*  own  •confscience.  They  were  awakened 
bj  his  inclination  for  Ani^c^i^ojjbyn..  They  were  suggested  by 
her  Mends.  Mr.  Brewer  wjio  add^is  the  first  of  these  solutions 
at  page  222,  prefers  the  %e(Doid*^t' page  258,  and,  forty  pages 
farther,  is  ready  to  accept  the -thirdi', 

The  idea  that  the  Divorce  firas  instigated  by  divines  of  Anne 
Bolejn's  faction^  was  put  forv^ard  by  Pole,  apparently  with  a 
view  to  connect  Cranmi^r  and  the  Lutheran  influence  with  the 
beginning  of  the*  troubles.     -It  is  supported  by  no  evidence; 
and  it  is  in  the   highest  degree  improbable  *that  the  Boleyns 
conceived  a  design  which  could  not  have  ^  been  accomplished 
without  violently  subverting   the   whole   system  of  European 
politics.       The   theory   which    represents   the   scruple   arising 
involuntarily,  almost  unconsciously,  in  the  King's  mind,  is  con- 
firmed, no   doubt,  by  his   own  public  declarations;  but  it  is 
difficult   to   reconcile  with  the  coarse   and   candid   admission 
which  he  made  privately  of  the  causes  which  estranged  him 
from  the   Queen.     Before  the  Court,  at  Blackfriars,  he  spoke 
only  of  scruples ;  in  secret  he  urged  motives  of  a  less  spiritual 
kind.     It  is  quite  natural   that  personal    repulsion    may  have 
paved  the  way  for  scruples.     It   is  much  less  likely  that  the 
idea   of  separation  can  have  come  first,  and  the    unconquer- 
able aversion    followed.      In    the   hypothesis    that   the   whole 
business  took  its  rise  in  the  King's  passion  for  Anne  Boleyn, 
there  is  not  the  same  inherent  improbability.     It  leaves  much 
unexplained,  and  suggests  many  difficulties;    but  it   depends 
mainly  on  a  question  of  chronology.     If  it  should  ever  be  pos- 
sible to  trace  the  idea  of  marrying  Anne  Boleyn  farther  back 
than  we  can  trace  the  idea  of  repudiating  Catharine  of  Aragon, 
the  case  would  be  proved.     But  with  the  materials  now  avail- 
able the  priority  is  decidedly  with  the  Divorce.     The  latest 
date   to  which  we  can  possibly  assign    the  first  steps  towards 
the  dissolution  of  the  marriage  is  the  summer  of  1526.     We 
have  shown  that  we  are  unable  to  put  the  proposal  to  Anne 
earlier  than  1527.     There  is  an  interval  therefore  during  which 
the  scheme  of  divorce  is  pursued,  and  is  fully  accounted  for, 
whilst  no  trace  of  a  rival  can  be  detected.     We  are  unable  to 
accept  either  of  Mr.  Brewer's  alternative  solutions. 

There  is  a  fourth  explanation  to  which  he  shows  no  mercy. 
He  absolutely  rejects  the  idea  that  Wolsey  was  the  author  of 
the  Divorce.  Such  a  report  was,  he  says,  put  about  by  Tyndall 
and  Roper;  but  it  was  contradicted  by  all  those  who  knew 
best ;  by  Henry,   by  Bishop    Longland,  and  by  the  Cardinal 

himself — 


46  Wolsey  and  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIIL  : 

himself — while  Cavendish  says  that  when  the  King  first  dis- 
closed his  intentions  to  Wolsey,  the  latter  fell  upon  his  knees 
and  endeavoured  to  dissuade  him.  We  regret  that  Mr.  Brewei 
has  not  entered  more  fully  into  the  evidence  which  has  deter- 
mined his  judgment  on  this  fundamental  point.  We  will 
indicate  as  briefly  as  we  can  the  reasons  which  induce  us 
to  attribute  the  Divorce  of  Queen  Catharine,  with  all  its 
momentous  consequences,  to  the  cause  he  has  so  pointedlj 
rejected. 

Longland  never  denied  that  Wolsey  was  the  author  of  the 
King's  doubts.  It  is  true  that  Longland,  a  persecutor  of 
Lutherans,  and  an  eager  and  overbearing  promoter  of  the 
Divorce,  when  he  saw  England  drifting  towards  Lutheranism, 
in  consequence,  indirectly,  of  what  he  had  helped  to  do, 
regretted  his  share  in  the  transaction,  and  denied  that  he  was 
primarily  responsible.  His  Chancellor,  Draycott,  conveyed 
his  denial  to  the  historian  Harpsfield,  who  records  it  in  his 
Life  of  Sir  Thomas  More.  But  Harpsfield  himself  was  not 
convinced.  In  the  following  year  he  wrote  that  Wolsey,  *  first 
by  himselfe,  or  by  John  Langlond,  bishopp  of  Lincolne,  and  the 
King's  confessor,  putt  this  scruple  and  doubte  into  his  head.' 
Even  if  Longland's  denial  exonerates  himself  it  does  not  exone- 
rate Wolsey,  whom  he  indicates  when  he  speaks  of  *  others,  that 
weare  the  cheife  setters  forth  of  the  divorce  beetweene  the 
Kinge  and  the  Queene  Catharine.' 

No  serious  import  belongs  to  the  testimony  of  Henry  and 
Wolsey,  given  in  open  court,  to  silence  just  objections  to 
Wolsey's  presence  there.  It  was  necessary  that  he  should  be 
represented  as  impartial  to  justify  his  appearance  on  the  judg- 
ment seat.  It  would  certainly  seem  that  Cavendish  meant  to 
say  what  Mr.  Brewer  imputes  to  him,  that  Wolsey  dissuaded 
Henry  from  the  beginning.  But  in  reality  he  says  no  more 
than  he  wo.uld  be  justified  in  saying  by  the  fact  that  Wolsey  did, 
at  various  times,  dissuade  him  ;  which  is  all  that  Wolsey  him- 
self has  said.  Nobody,  however,  knows  better  than  Mr.  Brewer 
that  Cavendish  is  the  author  of  much  of  the  confusion  that  has, 
until  the  appearance  of  his  work,  obscured  the  history  of  the 
Divorce.  We  cannot  allow  decisive  authority  to  one  ambiguous 
sentence  in  an  author  who,  though  doubtless  sincere,  is  both 
partial  and  inaccurate. 

The  weight  of  contemporary  testimony  is  overwhelming 
against  Wolsey.  We  will  say  nothing  of  Polydore  Vergil,  who 
was  an  enemy,  or  of  the  Belgian  Macqueriau,  and  the  Paris 
diarist,  because  they  wrote  only  from  rumour.  But  Jovius  was 
a  prelate  of  the  Court  of  Clement.     Guicciardini  was  connected 

with 


Mr.  Brewer*5  Calendar  of  State  Papers.  47 

with  Casale,  and  was  the  only  contemporary  writer  who  knew 
the  secret  of  Campana's  mission.  Both  Guicciardini  and 
Jorins  lay  the  responsibility  on  Wolsey.  Valdes,  who  was 
better  informed  than  either  of  the  Italians,  does  the  same. 
For  in  Spain  no  doubt  could  subsist.  Catharine  had  written  to 
Charles  that  Wolsey  was  the  author  of  her  sorrows,  and  the 
Emperor  never  ceased  to  proclaim  the  fact. 

The  tradition  of  the  English  Catholics  inclined  strongly  to 
assign  to   Wolsey  the   origin   of  their   misfortunes.      If  they 
had  any  bias  it  would  naturally  have   been  to  represent  the 
Reformation  in  England  as  springing  from  an  unclean  passion. 
Pole,  who  was  a  great  authority  amongst  them,  had  given  the 
example  of  this  controversial  use  of  Anne  Boleyn.     But  they 
departed  from  the  example  he  had  set,  and  preferred  an  explana- 
tion which  could  serve  no  polemical  purpose.    Pole  himself  once 
indicated  the  belief  that  Wolsey  was  the  author  of  the  King's 
design.     It  is  firmly  maintained  by  his  archdeacon,  Nicholas 
Harpsfield,  who  was  a  friend  of  the  Warhams,  who  had  lived 
^ith  Roper,  Rastall,  Buonvisi,  and  the  family  of  More,  and  in 
whom  were  concentrated  the  best  Catholic  traditions  of  that  age. 
Sir  Richard  Shelley  wrote  a  history  of  the  Divorce,  which  is 
*till  extant.      He  was  the  son  of  the  well-known  judge,  and 
^9l9  employed  both  by  Mary  and  Elizabeth  in  important  em- 
'^^^sies.      He   was  the  English  Prior  of  St.    John,  and  after 
is 59,  swam  in  the  full  tide  of  the  Catholic  reaction.     When  the 
^^^%  of  the  Northern  Rising  reached  Rome,  Shelley  was  one  of 
^ose  whom  the  Pope  consulted  before  issuing  his  Bull  against 
**^e  Queen.     He   attributes  all  the  blame  to  Wolsey.     If  any 
'"^swi  was   more  deeply  involved  than  Shelley  in  the  struggle 
^S'^inst  Elizabeth,  it  was  Nicholas  Sanders.     Writing  history 
fc>^  political    effect,   he    had    no    scruple   about    inventing   a 
*^^'^ne  or  a  fact  that  served  his  purpose ;  and  he  had  read  the 
'^^^rks  of  Rastall  and  Hiliard,  which  we  possess  only  in  frag- 
'^^^nts.     The  evidence  which  was  before  him  must  have  impli- 
*^^"^ed  Wolsey  with  a  force  that  was  irresistible.    Richard  Hall, 
^    ^nan  who  seems  to  have  given  proof  of  sincerity,  as  he  was  a 
*^^"€)te8tant  under  Mary,  and  a  Catholic  under  Elizabeth,  wrote 
*    life  of  Fisher,  about  the  year  1580.     He  had  his  information 
^^^^m  Phillips,  the  last  Prior  of  the  Benedictines  at  Rochester, 
^^o  had  sat  in  the  Convocation  of  1529,  and  from  Thomas 
^rding,  who  had  been  chaplain  to  Stokesley.    Hall  is,  like  the 
^t,  among  the  Cardinal's  accusers.    William  Forrest,  who  was 
contemporary,  and  became  chaplain  to  Queen  Mary,  agrees 
^th  Harpsfield  and  Shelley,  Sanders  and  Hall. 
Indeed,   without   resorting    to    contemporary    foreigners,    or 

to 


48  Wolsey  and  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIIL : 

to  English  writers  of  a  later  generation,  the  evidence  that 
Wolsey  first  moved  the  idea  of  divorce  appears  to  us  conclusive. 
The  Cardinal  himself  admitted  it  to  Du  Bellay,  not  speaking 
under  pressing  need  of  deception  and  excuse,  but  privately,  to 
one  who  was  his  friend,  who  powerfully  supported  his  policy, 
who  needed  no  convincing,  and  had  evidently  not  heard  the 
contrary  on  any  authority  worthy  of  belief.  A  statement  made 
in  these  circumstances  is  not  necessarily  credible,  but  it  far  out- 
weighs a  public  declaration  demanded  by  the  stress  of  popular 
suspicion.  Wolsey's  communication  to  Du  Bellay,  confirming 
what  he  wrote  to  Casale,*  connects  the  Divorce  with  the  great 
change  in  the  system  of  alliances  which  was  made  in  the 
spring  of  1525,  and  perfectly  explains  the  tenacious  grasp  with 
which  he  then  retained  his  power  in  spite  of  all  the  sacrifices 
which  the  failures  of  his  policy  imposed  on  the  King.  We 
cannot  reject  it  without  stronger  reason  than  has  been  yet 
produced. 

After  his  disgrace,  Wolsey  constantly  declared  himself 
innocent  of  crime,  yet  worthy  of  the  royal  displeasure.  The 
Divorce,  he  said,  was  the  cause  of  his  fall,  yet  he  denied  that,  in 
that,  he  had  offended.  This  would  be  consistent  and  intelligible 
language  if  he  was  the  author  of  counsels  that  had  proved  so 
pernicious.  On  his  deathbed  he  delivered  to  Kingston  the 
lesson  of  his  experience  of  Henry.  He  warned  him  to  be 
cautious  what  matter  he  put  into  his  head,  as  he  would  never 
put  it  out  again.  He  was  alluding  to  what  had  passed  in  the 
affair  of  Queen  Catharine  ;  and  his  words  had  a  pregnant  as 
well  as  a  literal  significance  if  he  was  thinking  of  a  matter 
which  he  had  himself  incautiously  put  into  the  King's  head. 

We  are  at  a  loss  to  find  a  valid  reason  for  doubting,  except 
the  authority  of  Mr.  Brewer.      We  acknowledge  the  force  of 
that  objection.       It  is  impossible  to  differ  without  uneasiness 
and  regret,  from   a  historian  who  has  supplied  so   large  and 
so   rich    a  part  of  the   knowledge  attainable  on  this  subject, 
and  who  is   unsurpassed  for   accuracy   and  penetration.     But 
Mr.  Brewer's  words,  in  speaking  of  Wolsey,  must   be   taken 
with  a  slight  allowance.     It  is  not  only  because  of  the  dignified 
liberality,  the  ceremonious  self-restraint,  which  is  due  from  a 
divine  of  the    English    Church    towards   a    Roman    Cardinal, 
and  from  an  illustrious  scholar  who  is  willing  to  think  nobly  and 
generously  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  towards  a  prelate  by  whose 
fault  that  Church  was   dishonoured   and  cast    down.       For  as 
many  years  as  Wolsey's  administration  lasted,  Mr.  Brewer  has 


♦  December  C,  1527. 

been 


Mr,  Brewer'*  Calendar  of  State  Papers.  49 

l^een  employed  in  investigating  his  actions.  He  has  hewn  him 
out  of  the  block.  He  has  found  much  that  is  new  and  different 
from  the  character  which  Protestant  and  Catholic  have  had  so 
Biuch  reason  to  blacken ;  and  he  has  felt  the  influence  not  only 
of  disgust  for  ignorant  detractors,  but  of  admiration  for  the 
strong  man  who,  when  the  population  of  all  England  did  not 
exceed  that  of  a  modem  city,  when  the  annual  revenue  was  no 
more  than  that  which  is  now  received  in  a  single  day,  when 
Scotland  and  Ireland  were  drains  upon  her  power,  when  she  was 
without  dependencies  and  without  a  fleet,  raised  the  kingdom 
by  the  force  of  his  solitary  genius,  to  a  position  among  European 
nations  not  inferior  to  that  which  it  now  enjoys. 

For  Wolsey  as   a   Minister  of  tyranny,   as   a  pensioner  of 
foreign  potentates,  as  a  priest  of  immoral  life,  he  has  an  extreme 
indulgence.      The   Cardinal   attempted   to   obtain    from    Par- 
liament a  declaration  that  all  things  in  the  land  belonged  to  the 
Crown — a   doctrine  which,   from  the   day  on  which    Frederic 
Barbarossa  consulted  the  jurists  of  Bologna,  until  Lewis  XIV. 
caused  it  to  be  sanctioned  by  the  divines  of  the  Sorbonne,  has 
been  the  symbol  of  despotic  power.     At  the  moment  when  he 
broke  off  the  alliance  with  the  House  of  Burgundy  and  sought 
the  friendship  of  France,  he  had  for  four  years  been  denied  his 
pensions  by  the  Power  that  he  abandoned,  whilst  he  required  from 
the  Power  that  he  joined  a  sum  equal  in  our  money  to  285,000/. 
When  he  exchanged  Durham  for  Winchester,  he  asked  that  the 
see  which  he  vacated  should  be  transferred  to  his  son,  a  youth 
then  studying  at  Paris.     Mr.  Brewer  will  not  admit  a  doubt  as  to 
Wolsey*s  integrity.    If  we  remember  rightly,  he  nowhere  mentions 
the  proposed  transfer  of  the  great  see  of  Durham.     He  is  almost 
unwilling  to  believe  that  Wolsey  had  a  son.     That  he  had  a 
daughter  Mr.   Brewer  does  not   dispute.      But  he  thinks  that 
such    transgressions   did    not   necessarily   involve   any  greater 
impropriety  than  the  marriage  of  an  English  clergyman  at  the 
present  day.*     This  view  of  the  age  of  the  Reformation  leaves 
a  great  feature  in  its  history  unexplained.     No  influence  then 
at  work  contributed  more  than  the  private  lives  of  ecclesiastics 
such  as  Wolsey  to  undermine  Catholicism,  and  to  incline  men 
towards  a  Church  which  renounced  the  hazards  of  an  enforced 
celibacy.     We    would    undertake,    if   necessary,  to  justify  our 
words  by  proof  which  Mr.  Brewer  will  accept,  by  the  writings 

^  *  Here,  as  in  other  Catholic  countries  at  the  present  day,  or  at  least  until 

'"coently,  the  marriage  of  the  parochial  clergy  bad  to  be  tolerated  more  generally 

*ian  is  supposed.  ...  In  many  instances  such  offences  involved  no  greater 

transgression  of  the  moral  law  than  ....  such  marriages,  for  instance,  as  are 

Qow  contracted  by  the  English  prelates  and  clergy.' — Pages  630,  G-IO. 

Tol.  143.— iVb.  Z8o.  E  of 


50  Wokey  and  the  Divorce  of  Henry  VIIL 

of  the  most  eminent  and  the  most  impartial  men  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  by  the  decrees  of  twenty  synods,  by  the  constitutions 
of  York  itseK. 

Mr.  Brewer's  abounding  charity  defends  the  Cardinal  as  a 
persecutor.  Wolsey  had  caused  Protestants  to  be  burnt  in  the  day 
of  his  power,  and  in  the  last  hour  of  his  [life,  when  his  speech 
faltered  and  his  eyes  grew  dim,  he  uttered  an  exhortation  that 
Henry  would  not  spare  the  Lutherans,  because  they  would  prove 
a  danger  to  the  State.  Yet  even  that  appalling  vision  of  the 
dying  Prelate,  who,  having  clothed  himself  in  sackcloth,  and 
made  his  peace  with  God,  gathered  his  last  breath  to  fan  the 
flames  of  Smithfield,  has  no  terrors  for  Mr.  Brewer.  No  man, 
he  says,  was  less  disposed  to  persecute ;  and  he  excuses  him  by 
the  examples  of  his  age,  and  by  the  greater  cruelty  of  More. 

The  argument  which  excuses  Wolsey  by  the  times  he  lived 
in,  is  a  serious  fallacy.  Christians  must  be  judged  by  a  moral 
code  which  is  not  an  invention  of  the  eighteenth  century,  but  is 
as  old  as  the  Apostles.  We  are  no  wiser  than  the  contem- 
poraries of  Wolsey  regarding  the  rights  of  conscience.  Per- 
secution has  indeed  become  more  difficult  to  carry  out ;  and 
the  conditions  of  modern  society  make  toleration  easy.  But 
there  are,  in  our  day,  many  educated  men  who  think  it  right  to 
persecute  ;  and  there  were,  in  the  days  of  Wolsey,  many  who  were 
as  enlightened  on  that  point  as  Burke  or  Jefferson.  There  was 
a  humane  and  liberal  current,  both  in  government  and  in  litera- 
ture, which  the  religious  conflict  that  followed  checked  for 
generations.  Whilst  Lollards  and  Lutherans  were  burning,  in  the 
Chancellorship  of  Wolsey,  the  Greeks  lived  unmolested  in  Venice, 
and  the  Waldenses  enjoyed  a  respite  in  Savoy ;  the  Inqui- 
sition was  forbidden  to  interfere  with  the  Moriscoes  of  Granada ; 
and  in  Portugal  the  later  laws  of  Emanuel  the  Great  protected 
the  Judaizing  heretics  from  popular  fanaticism.  No  country  had 
sufiered  so  much  from  religious  strife  as  Bohemia ;  but  in  1512 
Catholics  and  Utraquists  made  an  agreement  in  perpetuity  that 
rich  and  poor  of  both  churches  should  enjoy  freedom  unre- 
strained. In  Denmark  equal  rights  were  assigned  to  Catholics 
and  Protestants  at  the  Diet  of  1527.  Before  the  close  of  the 
fifteenth  century  the  French  Inquisition  had  been  shorn  of  it«. 
might ;  the  bishops  refused  to  prosecute  those  who  were  accuseds 
of  heresy  ;  the  Parliament  rescued  them  ;  and  Lutheranism  w 
allowed  to  sprcs^d  with  the  connivance  of  the  court,  until  th 
long  absence  and  captivity  of  the  King.  Many  years  even  thei 
elapsed  before  the  Protestants  ceased  to  regard  Francis  as  thei 
defender.  Beneath  the  sceptre  of  the  Hapsburgs  persecutio: 
reigned ;  yet  in  1526  Ferdinand  conceded  territorial  toleratioa 

an 


Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners.  51 

and  Charles  himself,  in  1532,  proclaimed  the  rights  of  conscience 
in  language  worthy  of  a  better  time. 

There  was  a  strong  body  of  opinion  on  the  other  side,  but 
authorities  equally  strong  may  be  quoted  in  fayour  of  murder, 
not  merely  among  men  entangled  in  the  habits  of  a  darker  age, 
but  among  those  who  had  struggled  to  emancipate  their  minds 
from  tradition,  and  who  made  it  the  pride  and  the  business  of 
their  lives  to  resist  the  vices  of  the  vulgar.  It  was  no  reason  for 
an  assassin  to  escape  the  gallows  that  Melancthon  had  prayed 
for  a  brave  man  to  despatch  Henry  VIII. ;  that  the  brave 
man  who  despatched  the  Duke  of  Guise  was  praised  by  Beza  to 
the  skies  ;  that  Knox  wished  the  doom  of  Rizzio  to  be  inflicted 
on  every  Catholic;  that  the  Swedish  bishops  recommended 
that  a  dose  of  poison  should  be  mixed  with  the  King's  food. 
Nor  can  we  admit  that  the  intolerance  of  Wolsey  is  excused  by 
comparison  with  the  greater  intolerance  of  More.  The  Cardinal, 
in  his  last  hours,  asked  for  measures  of  repression,  the  nature  of 
which  his  own  example  and  the  statute  of  Henry  IV.  left 
in  no  kind  of  doubt.  Sir  Thomas  More  protested  before  his 
death,  in  terms  which  have  satisfied  the  impartial  judgment  of 
one  of  his  latest  successors  on  the  woolsack,  that  no  Protestant 
had  perished  by  his  act. 


Art.  II. — 1.  KongS'Skagg-sid.     Soro,  1768. 

2.  Speculum  Regale,     Christiania,  1848. 

WHAT  people  in  England  thought  of  Iceland  in  former 
days  is  pretty  clear  from  the  lines  which  commence 
the  tenth  chapter  of  the  *  Libelle  of  Englysch  Polycye :'  * 

*  Of  Yseland  to  wryte  is  little  nede 
Save  of  stockfische,' 

A  veidict  endorsed  by  Dr.  Andrew  Borde,  at  the  beginning  of 
tbe  sixteenth  century,  in  his  ^  Introduction  to  Knowledge : ' 

*  And  I  was  bom  in  Island,  as  brute  as  a  beest ; 
When  I  ete  candels  ends  I  am  at  a  feast,'  &o. 

^^deed,  as  history  teaches  us,  Scandinavia  generally  fared  not 
*  >prhit  better  in  the  estimation  of  our  countrymen;  but  by 
^^g;rees,  with  the  diffusion  of  knowledge,  a  truer  light  has  been 
^Ixrown  upon  the  subject.  The  tables  have  in  fact  been  turned, 
S'^fi  it  now  appears  that  to  despised  Scandinavia  England  owes 

*  Cf.  •  The  Babeea  Book/  &c.,  p.  214,  Early  English  Text  Society. 

£  2  a  great 


52  Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners, 

a  great  deal.  In  Ireland,  and  its  language,  have  been  found  the 
key  to  many  a  riddle  in  our  national  character  and  national 
language. 

It  is  only  within  the  last  few  years,  as  we  have  seen,  thai 
reading  Englishmen  have  begun  to  realise  the  fact,  that  at  a 
period  when  our  Anglo-Saxon  forefathers  were  innocent  of  all 
skill  in  writing  books  in  their  own  tongue,  in  which  they  were 
born  (the  most  cultivated  among  them  using  Latin  as  a  vehicle 
for  expressing  their  thoughts),  there  was  a  race  of  men  in  a  fai 
distant  island,  more  than  half-way  over  to  South  Greenland, 
who  had  attained  to  a  power  of  composition  in  their  own  ver- 
nacular, which,  for  vividness  and  fire,  for  firmness  and  breadth 
of  outline,  for  picturesque  grouping  of  accessories  and  details, 
has  never  been  surpassed.  Although  the  rich  and  racy  language 
in  which  these  imperishable  monuments  were  cast — the  Old 
Norse,  Danish,  or  Icelandic,  as  it  is  indifferently  called — was 
current  in  those  days  all  over  Scandinavia,  yet  they  were  almost 
invariably  the  work  of  Icelanders  living  in  Iceland.  Such  were 
Ari  Frodi,  born  1067,  died  1148,  the  father  of  Icelandic  history  ; 
his  friend  and  fellow-student,  Saemund,  the  reputed  compilei 
of  the  '  Old  Edda ; '  *  the  immortal  Snorri  Sturleson ;  and 
Sturla  Thordarson,  the  continuer  of  the  Sagas  after  Snorri, 
who  died  1284. 

What  caused  this  barren  island  to  be  so  fertile  in  literary  pro- 
duction ?  Was  it  the  exuberant  energy  of  a  race,  once  lords  of 
the  main  land,  but  now  cooped  up  in  the  narrow  confines  of  that 
^desolate  wilderness,  that  found  a  partial  vent  in  literary  fecun- 
dity? Did  hard  simple  fare  sharpen  the  intellectual  faculty? 
Was  it  the  spectacle  of  fire  and  frost,  fighting  for  the  mastery, 
that  fired  or  excited  their  brain  ?  Or  the  desire  to  make  them- 
selves a  name  which  should  penetrate  from  this  remote  corner, 
in  which  they  were  voluntary  exiles,  to  the  very  ends  of  the 
earth  ?  Or  was  it  frequent  mixture  on  their  travels,  in  the  best 
.society  of  foreign  parts,  which  taught  them  that  to  excel  in 
history  and  poetry  was  to  be  a  favourite  with  the  great,  and  to 
have  a  purse  well  filled  with  gold  pieces — a  piece  of  practical 
knowledge  which  their  ready  mother-wit  would  lose  no  time  in 
turning  to  the  best  account  ?  Or  was  blood — race — at  the  bottom 
of  the  phenomenon  after  all — a  dormant  proclivity,  an  embryo 
aspiration  inbred  in  this  particular  tribe  of  Eastern  emigrants, 
which  required  peculiar  conditions  of  locality,  of  natural  sur- 
roundings, of  worldly  circumstances,  to  start  forth  into  vigorous 

•  Recent  critics  have  deposed  him  from  hifl  pride  of  place.  Bishop  Brynjiilfr, 
who  dit  covered  the  Edda  MS.  at  Skalholt  (1043),  is  shown  to  have  ascribed 
it  without  warrant  to  Saemund. 

life; 


Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners,  53 

life  ;  and  those  conditions  they  met  with,  and  the  thing  was  done  ? 
While  the  other  Teutonic  tribes,  halting  in  the  tamer  plains  and 
forests  of  central  Germany,  or  paddling  among  the  mud-flats  of 
the  lower  Elbe  and  Rhine,  or  comfortably  settled  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  the  temperate  climate  and  more  genial  soil  of  England, 
garnished  for  them  and  nicely  swept  by  the  hand  of  effete  and 
waning  Rome,  either  fell  upon  soil  unfavourable  to  literary  ger- 
mination, or  naturally  lacked,  in  their  mental  and  physical  com- 
position, the  spark  of  celestial  fire  that  goes  to  the  making  of  a 
poet  or  historian ! 

The  poem  of  *  Beowulf — a  chief  monument  of  Anglo-Saxon 
literature — is  no  proof  to  the  contrary  :  for  it  is  now  held  by  the 
best  judges  to  be  of  continental  and  heathen  origin.     In  its 
scenery  and  personages,  in  its  form  and  essence,  it  is  Scandi- 
navian— features,  which  at  once  point  to  the  conclusion  that  it 
came  over  with  the  early  Scandinavian  invaders,  and  got  altered 
into  its  present  shape.    Is  it,  then,  to  some  of  the  above  suggested 
causes,  or  to  a  combination  of  all  of  them,  that  we  must  look  for 
the  Mimer's  fount — the  source  of  inspiration  of  these  people — and 
attribute  the  difference   between   the   literary  compositions  of 
the   Anglo-Saxon  and   the  Scandinavian?      To  take  a  crucial 
instance,  just  compare  our  *  Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle '   with  the 

*  Heimskringla.'  The  first  reminds  us,  if  we  may  be  per- 
mitted to  say  so,  of  the  *  Valley  of  dry  bones,' — not  a  living 
trait  there  of  the  Great  Alfred's  character,  moral  or  intellectual, 
or  of  his  personal  qualities.  In  the  '  Heimskringla,'  on  the  con- 
trary, by  the  wave  of  the  enchanter's  wand,  in  the  hand  of  a 
Snorri,  these  dry  bones  start  up  into  animated  life. 

A  new  and  startling  theory  has  lately,  however,  been  broached 
ly  the  Irish  antiquaries,  claiming  for  natives  of  Ireland  the 
laurels  hitherto  worn  by  Scandinavia.  Dr.  Todd,  in  his  edition 
of  the  *  Wars  of  the  Gaedhill  and  the  Gaill '  (Introd.  p.  xxviii.), 
surmises  that  the  Icelandic  Sagas  were  only  '  imitations,  on  the 
part  of  the  Northmen,  of  the  historical  tales  and  bardic  poems 
'which  they  had  found  in  Ireland.'  Some  of  these,  he  goes  on  to 
say,  are  still  extant  in  the  Irish  tongue,  and  were  popular  with 
the  Irish  in  the  tenth  and  eleventh  centuries,  at  latest ;  whereas 
Ari  Frodi,  who,  according  to  Snorri,  was  the  first  man  that  wrote 
clown  in  Norse  things  new  and  old,  was  not  born  till  1067.  The 
Irish  Tales,  like  the  Norse,  were  in  prose  interspersed  with  poems 
and  fragments  of  poems,  and  therefore  he  (Dr.  Todd)  concludes, 

•  Ireland  had  evidently  the  priority  of  the  North  in  this  species 
of  popular  literature.'  But,  though  Ari  may  have  been  the  first 
to  write  these  things  down,  yet  it  is  clear  that,  centuries  before, 
these  people  had  a  live  tradition,  wonderfully  elaborated  and 

faithfully 


54  Old  Norse  MvTor  of  Men  and  Manners. 

faithfully  kept;  so  that,  at  the  end  of  the  tenth  century,  the 
national  literature  was  full-blown  and  ready  to  be  committed  to 
writing.  Saxo,  who  flourished  in  the  tenth  century,  in  the  Pre- 
face to  his  ^  History  of  Denmark,'  dwells  on  this  extraordinary 
aptitude  of  the  Icelanders  for  committing  facts  to  memory  and 
writing  them  down. 

But  Dr.  Todd  is  not  without  backers.  Mr.  Matthew  AmcJd, 
in  his  papers  on  Celtic  Literature,  has  discovered  that  ^  the  style 
of  the  Icelandic  writers  is  due  to  early  Celtic  influence.*  And 
he  bases  this  dictum  on  the  statement  of  Ari,*  that  in  870, 
when  the  Northmen  arrived  in  Iceland,  there  were  Christians 
there  (Papae),  who  went  away  because  they  did  not  like  to 
live  with  heathen,  leaving  behind  them  Irish  books,  bells, 
and  crosiers ;  whence  these  people  must  have  been  Irish.  But 
surely  this  is  a  slender  foundation  for  the  statement  that  the 
inimitable  style  of  Icelandic  literature  is  borrowed  from  the  Irish. 
And,  besides,  to  judge  from  the  specimens  of  inflation  and  bom- 
bast exhibited  in  the  Irish  ^  Saga,  edited  by  Dr.  Todd,  with  its 
synonymes  piled  on  synonymes,  and  alliteration  run  mad,  the 
Erse  productions  are  not  to  be  compared  with  the  work  of  the 
Icelanders.     Hyperion  to  a  Satyr  I 

We  have  indicated  above  how  far  England  was  behind  with 
the  pen  in  Alfred's  time.  But  this  want  of  genius  and  inca- 
pacity for  original  composition  endured  long  after  the  Conquest. 
The  linguistic  strata  of  the  country  were  thoroughly  dislocated 
by  the  social  earthquake  at  Hastings,  and  most  literary  efibrts 
were  confined  to  Latin,  or  mere  translations  from  the  French.  For 
many  weary  years  Norman  and  Anglo-Saxon  were  striving  for 
the  mastery,  so  that,  according  to  some  philologists,  the  earliest 
specimen  of  a  public  document  in  our  native  tongue  is  the  well- 
known  proclamation  of  Henry  III.,  A.D.  1258. 

*  The  King's  Mirror,'  to  which  we  now  desire  to  call  the 
attention  of  our  readers,  is  one  of  the  few  works,  composed  in 
the  old  tongue,  that  did  not  see  the  light  in  Iceland.  From 
internal  evidence  it  is  clear  that  this  remarkable  book  was  written 
in  Norway,  although  all  the  MSS.  of  it,  save  one,  were  made  in 
Iceland.     Who  the  author  was  is  matter  of  doubt.     At  an  early 

Jeriod  it  was  attributed  to  King  Swerrer,  the  friend  of  our  King 
ohn.  Olaus  Wormius,  writing  to  Stephanus  Stephanius  in  1641, 
mentions  this  tradition,  and  docs  not  impugn  it.  This  reputed 
author  was  such  a  notable  fellow,  that  we  must  introduce  him  to 
our  readers.  Brought  up  in  boyhood,  and  educated  for  the  priestly 
ofiice,  under  his  uncle  the  Bishop  of  Faro,  he  doubtless  often 


'  Ifilenclingabok.' 

ministered 


Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners.  55 

inistered  in  tlie  quaint  old  church  at  Kirkubo,  near  Thorsharen, 
bidi,  when  Mre  visited  the  Islands  a  few  years  ago,  was  still 
ed  for  public  worship.  With  no  very  well-founded  preten- 
)ii8  to  the  crown,  his  royal  blood  being  little  better  than  a 
fth,  this  main  at  length  surmounted  all  obstacles  and  ascended 
9  throne  of  ^Norway.  Like  many  of  our  English  monarchs  in 
)se  days,  like  the  Emperor  Frederick  II.  of  Germany,  like  all 
i  monarchs  who  would  not  brook  the  arrogant  pretensions  of 
)me,  and  appointed  their  own  bishops,  he  soon  got  the  Pope 
on  his  back,  and  found  him  as  difficult  to  dislodge  as  ever  did 
abad,  the  old  man  of  the  sea. 

To  such  a  pass  did  matters  come  at  last  between  Swerrer 
d  the  Pope,  that  the  King,  like  our  craven  John,  was  placed 
ider  an  interdict,  and  alLthe  bishops  fled  out  of  the  land. 
lit  we  cannot  follow  the  details  of  his  eventful  life,  and  must 
IS8  on  to  its  end.  Falling  sick  after  a  successful  deed  of 
ms  at  Xunsberg,  he  sailed  for  Bergen,  keeping  his  berth 
oring  the  voyage.  As  soon  as  he  reached  that  city,  he  caused 
imself  to  be  carried  up  to  the  castle.  Perceiving  death 
ipproaching,*  he  ordered  the  letters  about  the  succession  to  be 
ml  aloud,  and  then  sealed  up  and  despatched  to  his  son 
iacon  at  Trondjem.  The  city  clergy  were  next  summoned  to 
idminister  extreme  unction  to  the  dying  king,  and — all  honour  to 
hese  spirited  ecclesiastics ! — they  did  not  appear  to  have  raised 
U3y  objection,  although  he  was  under  the  ban  of  the  Church.  At 
his  moment  he  exclaimed,  '  Here  will  I  wait  for  recovery  for 
leath.  If  I  die  in  my  high  seat,  surrounded  by  my  friends,  it 
vill  chance  otherwise  than  Bishop  Amesen  prophesied :  that  I 
hould  be  cut  down  as  food  for  dogs  and  ravens.'  Thereupon 
le  was  anointed ;  his  last  request  being  that  they  should  leave 
lis  face  bare,  so  that  friends  and  enemies  might  see  whether  it 
•xhibitcd  any  traces  of  the  Church's  ban  and  interdict.  ^  More  moil 
ind  unrest  h^e  been  my  portion.'  exclaimed  he,  '  than  rest  and 
njoyment.  Many  foes  have  I  had,  who  have  let  me  feel  the  full 
weight  of  their  enmity,  which  God  forgive  them  all.  Let  Him 
udge  between  us.'  So  died  March  9,  1202,  at  the  early  age  of 
>1,  worn  out  by  hardships,  one  of  Norway's  greatest  kings ;  the 
nsinuations  of  one  of  his  bitterest  detractors,  William  of  New- 
mry,  notwithstanding.  A  book  by  such  a  man  would  indeed 
lave  been  worth  reading ;  and  there  is  a  clerkly  flavour  about 
;he  work  in  parts,  which  might  well  befit  one  brought  up,  like 
Swerrer,  for  the  Church  :  but  by  common  consent  the  authorship 
oiust  be  sought  elsewhere.  ^  With  much  polish,  it  has  none  of 

*  *■  Torfacus/  iv.  1.    Eeyser  *  Xorske  Kirkens  Historie,'  i.  316. 

the 


58  Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners. 

lands.  So  that  Ilo  needs  much  activity  and  oonrage.  Wherever  yon 
are,  be  courteous  and  gentle ;  that  always  makes  a  man  beloved  by 
the  good.  Bise  early,  and  go  first  to  church  :  *  when  service  is  over, 
then  look  to  your  affairs.  And  if  you  do  not  know  the  business  ways 
of  the  place,  notice  how  the  merchants  of  best  repute  conduct  theirs. 
Mind  all  the  wares  you  buy  or  sell  are  without  blemish ;  and  before 
your  bargain  is  complete,  always  have  some  men  of  skill  to  witness 
the  transaction.  £o  about  your  business  till  luncheon,  or  even  to  the 
mid-day  meal,  if  needs  be.  Tour  board  must  be  furnished  with  white 
linen,  clean  food,  and  good  drink.  If  you  can  afford  it,  keep  a  good 
table.  After  dinner  sleep  awhile,  or  go  abroad  and  amuse  yourself. 
Set  a  fair  price  on  your  goods,  near  about  what  you  think  they  wiU 
fetch.  Don't  brood  over  them,  if  you  can  get  rid  of  them  on  reason- 
ably good  terms ;  for  frequent  purchase  and  quick  sale  is  the  very  life 
of  tradeJ 

A  maxim  exactly  anticipating  our  English  saw,  *  Small  profits 
and  quick  returns,*  or  *  The  nimble  ninepence  is  better  than  the 
slow  shilling.'  Books  of  all  kinds,!  especially  on  law,  he  recom- 
mends him  to  study,  as  also  works  on  the  manners  of  foreign 
countries. 

'  And  if  you  would  be  perfect  in  learning,  learn  all  the  tongues, 
above  all  Latin  and  French  (Waelsch);  for  these  two  tongues  go 
farthest ;  but  mind  and  not  forget  your  mother  tongue.' 

Which  last  sentence  is  aptly  inscribed  in  Polyglott  on  the 
tomb  of  the  great  linguist  Rask  at  Copenhagen. 

He  must  flee  drinking  and  dicing,  loose  life  and  gambling, 
as  the  very  fiend  himself:  for  they  are  the  root  of  every  mis- 
fortune. The  light  of  the  heavens,  the  courses  of  the  stars,  the 
succession  of  day  and  night,  the  divisions  of  the  earth,  the  storms 
of  the  ocean,  will  demand  his  constant  study.  Ready  reckoning, 
too,  will  stand  the  merchant  in  good  stead. 

*  If  you  stop  in  a  town  take  up  your  quarters  at  an  auberge  (her- 
bergo),  the  host  of  which  is  discreet,  and  in  good  odour  alike  with  the 
townspeople  and  the  King's  retainers.  Don't  associate  with  noisy, 
brawling  people.  Bo  very  slow  to  quarrel,}  but  put  not  up  with  insults, 
where  you  may  be  reviled  as  a  coward  in  consequence.  If  necessity 
force  thee  to  retaliate,  be  sudden  and  quick  about  it ;  but  with  this 
proviso,  that  you  can  compass  your  object,  and  that  punishment  falls 


*  The  English  writer  on  *  Manners  *  also  advises  his  son  to  go  thither,  but  it 
is  *  to  observe  the  manners  of  their  worship.* — Chesterfield^  i.  108. 

t  *  The  knowledge  more  particularly  useful  and  necessary  for  you  consists  of 
mcHleni  languages,  mwlern  history,  chronology,  geography,  the  laws  of  nations/ 
&c—Che8terfieldy  i.  143. 

J  *  Beware 

Of  entrance  to  a  quarrel ;  but,  being  in, 

Bear't,  that  the  oppoiiier  may  beware  of  thee.' — HamleL 

on 


Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners.  59 

on  tiie  right  man.  Bat  if  yon  seo  naagbt  is  to  be  got  by  it,  keep  cool 
and  seek  redress  later,  nnless  the  offender  comes  forward  and  seeks 
atoDement.  Never  omit  to  take  God  and  the  Most  Holy  Virgin  into 
a  Bhare  with  yon,  as  well  as  the  saint  yon  oftenest  invoke  to  intercede 
for  yon  with  Crod.  Be  very  careful  of  the  money  that  holy  men 
entrust  to  yon,  and  carry  it  feithfnlly  to  its  destination.' 

Here  are  instructive  hints  upon  the  way  of  thinking  among 
men  of  substance  and  sobriety  upon  matters  mercantile  and 
i^Iigious.  In  those  days  a  good  deal  of  coin  would  be  passing 
in  the  shape  of  Peter's  pence,  and  other  ecclesiastical  offerings, 
vhich  a  dishonest  skipper  might  have  easily  converted  to  his 
own  uses.  These  pence  were  first  established  by  Nicholas 
Breakspear,  on  his  visit  to  Norway  1152,  as  Papal  legate.* 
Greenland's  first  contributions  were  walrus-teeth,  as  appears 
fit>m  a  parchment  in  the  Vatican. 

He  next  counsels  his  son  not  to  have  all  his  eggs  in  one 

"asket,  but  embark  in  various  ventures.     And,  if  he  prospers 

^^ceedingly,  he  had  better  invest  in  good  land,  as  that  sort  of 

i*>X)perty  is  safest.     When  his  money  is  full  grown,  and  he  has 

^^ladied  the  manners  of  foreign  countries,  his  argosies  can  go  to 

^^a,  but  he  need  not  venture  his  own  person. 

Questions  are  now  put  about  various  physical  phenomena: 
^^^*  instance,  what  causes  the  sea's  ill  temper ;  now  so  smooth 
^^*^d  gentle  that  one  yearns  to  sport  with  it  six  months  on  end, 
^•^d  now  so  wroth  and  spiteful,  that  it  would  wrest  from  its 
F^laiymates  their  property  and  life.  It  was  not  to  be  expected 
^-■^at  a  very  satisfactory  reply  was  forthcoming  to  a  question 
*  •^ solving  principles  even  now  very  imperfectly  understood. 

Some  equally  puzzling  questions  follow  about  'the  increase 

^*^d  decrease  of  the  sun  and  moon,  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  tides, 

the  relation  which  these  respectively  bear  to  one  another.' 

e  father  grapples  with  his  interrogator,  as  well  as  the  then 

^'^^te  of  science  and  the  most  recent  authorities  which  he  had 

Consulted  would  permit.     His  system,  like  that  of  our  Neckam 

(^.tout  1300),   is,  doubtless,  the   one  accepted  in   those  days. 

*^€>  solve  his  son's  difficulty  about  the  difference  of  temperature 

i*i  different  countries  the  following  experiment  is  introduced  : — 

*  Take  a  burning  candle  and  place  it  inside  a  big  chamber  ;  and  if 

there  is  nothing  to  hinder,  it  will  light  the  whole  interior,  big  as  it 

^     Bat  if  you  take  an  apple  and  hang  it  close  by  the  light,  so  that 

the  apple  gets  hot,  it  will  darken  half  the  house  or  more.     Now  hang 

i^^y  the  wall  and  it  will  not  become  hot,  while  tho  candle  lights  aU 

tbe  inside  of  the  house ;  and  there  will  be  scarcely  so  much  shadow 

,j,  ^ce beggar*8  brat,  and  afterwards  Pope  Adrian  IV.  (1159).    Snorri  says^ho 
*"**  nxuch  to  ameliorate  Norse  mannew, 

on 


60  Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners, 

on  the  wall,  where  the  apple  hangs,  as  half  the  bigness  of  the  apple. 
From  this  you  see  the  earth  is  round,  and  it  is  not  equally  near  the 
sun  at  all  points  ;  but  where  its  curved  course  comes  nearest  to  the 
sun's  course,  it  is  much  the  warmest ;  and  those  countries  are  unin- 
habitable where  this  is  the  case.  But  those  countries  so  situated  that 
it  strikes  them  with  slantiug  rays,  they  are  habitable.' 

Singularly  enough,  in  a  quaint  cosmographical  fragment  by 
Robert  of  Gloucester,  who  flourished  1300,  the  phases  of  the 
moon  are  illustrated  by  comparing  her  to  a  ball  placed  beside  a 
candle : — 

*•  So  that  the  sonne  in  halven  del  schyneth  ever  mo 
What  above,  what  bynethe,  how  so  it  evere  go : 
As  we  mai  bi  a  candle  i-seo,  that  is  besides  a  balle 
That  giveth  light  on  hire  halven  del  how  so  it  evere  falle.' 

The  youth  has  clearly  had  enough  of  science.     He  sees  ho) 
needful  this  kind  of  lore  is  for  a  merchant,  but  he  suggests  tha^' 
topics  of  a  lighter  and  more  amusing  nature  should  be  no^ 
introduced,  with  which  suggestion  the  reader  doubtless  concurs. 

The  wonders   of  Ireland,   Iceland,   Greenland :   their   fii 
springs,   fishes,  sea-monsters,  floating  and  stationary  icel 
the  Northern  Light,  and  the   stupendous   sea-serpents   of  th^  -*' 
Greenland  ocean,  are  now  introduced.     But  the  father  is  vei 
slow  to  enlighten  his  interrogator.      He  might  be  accused 
exaggeration. 

*  There  was  a  book  brought  to  Norway  the  other  day  on  "  Th^ 
Wonders  of  India,"  which  was  stated  to  have  been  sent  to  Emmanii< 
the  Grecian  King.     But  people  aver  that  it  is  all  a  pack  of  li< 
although  quite  as  great  marvels  as  it  relates  are  to  be  found  up 
North.' 

The  mention  of  tliis  Greek  emperor,  who  reigned  1143—1180^^^ 
fixes  the  date  of  '  The  King's  Mirror '  within  certain  limits.     I 
was  under  him  that  Eric,  King  Swerrer's  brother,  served,  witl 
other  noble  Norwegians.     Doubtless,  like  Othello,  they  woul( 
have  many  wonders  to  recount,  imported  from  the  fabulous 

All  we  know  of  this  *  little  book '  is  that,  among  other  thinf 
it  tells  of  great  flying  dragons,  which  small  men  broke  in,  liki 
horses.      But,  asks  Paterfamilias,  have  we  not  quite  as  grea^ 
marvels  to  show  ?     Your  man,  no  faster  afoot  than  another,  shal- 
take  a  slip  of  wood  some  nine  ells  long,  and  so  shape  it  that 
when   fitted   to  his  feet,  he  can  outstrip  a  bird,  a  hound,  or 
reindeer.     So  that  your  expert  runners  will  spear  as  many  a:- 
nine  reindeer  a  day.     Would  not  Orientals,  if  they  heard  this 
think  it  incredible? 


Other  Northern   wonders  are  recounted  :   e,  //.,  the   moss  - , 

Biarkada^^' 


Old  Norse  l^Hrror  of  Men  and  Manners.  61 

Biarkadal.  Trees  grow  in  it,  but  cut  them  down,  and,  after 
three  winters,  when  the  wood  is  dry,  throw  them  into  it,  and 
thej  irill  turn  to  stone,  which  can  be  made  red-hot,  but  is 
incombustible ;  while  if  a  part  sticks  out  of  the  morass,  it  will 
remain  wood.  He  himself  has  had  in  his  hands  tree  stems 
from  that  place,  half-wood,  half-stone. 

He  then  describes  the  wonders  of  Ireland :  its  immunity  from 
makes,  its  wells,  its  miraculous  places  and  things,  and  its  great 
sanctity.  Indeed,  small  as  the  island  is,  it  contains  more  saints 
than  any  other  island  in  the  world ;  for  ^  the  natives,  though 
very  grim,  bloodthirsty,  and  immoral,  will  never  put  a  saint  to 
death.* 

The  question  arises,  had  our  author  seen  Giraldus's  ^  Topo- 
graphia  Hibemiae.'    Snorri,  according  to  Laing  ('  Heimskringla,' 
i.  304),  and  also  according  to  Mr.  Brewer,  must  have   been 
acquainted  with  it.      The  vain-glorious  Welshman  had  taken 
effectual  measures  for  making   his  account  of  Ireland  popular 
and  well    known.     For  three  whole  days,  A.D.  1200,  he   had 
recited  the  Second  Edition  of  it  at  Oxford  before  an  audience 
which    was   largely   composed   of  foreign   scholars,    owing   to 
the  disturbances   then  prevailing  in  the  University  of  Paris. 
The  admission  to  these  '  Readings '  was  free  ;  add  to  which,  as 
he  complacently  informs  us,  he  feasted  all  the  Doctors  of  the 
difierent  Faculties,  all  the  scholars,  all  the  knights  in  the  place, 
^11  the  poor,  and  many  of  the  burgesses.     Moreover,  there  was 
plenty  of  direct  intercourse  between  Great  Britain  and  Norway, 
i¥hich  would  have  given  facilities  for  books  being  carried  to  the 
latter  country.     Henry  II.  used  to  send  people  there  every  year 
iirhen  the  falcons  had  hatched,  to  get  young  birds  for  his  sport. 
Or  a  copy  of  the  '  Topography  of  Ireland '   might  have  been 
carried  by  Giraldus  to  Home,  which  he  visited  at  the  end  of 
the   twelfth  century,  and  from  thence  have  found  its  way  to 
Norway.      Indeed,  it  is  unquestionable  that  most  writers   on 
Ireland  from  that  day  to  this  took  Giraldus  for  their  text-book. 
£at  our  author  must  have  had  access  to  other  sources,  for  his 
^urcount  is  often  fuller,  and  does  not  always  tally  with  that  in 
the  *  Topography.'     We  conjecture  that  our  Author  must  have 
Icnown  that  singular  book,  the  '  Irish  Nennius,'  which  was  re- 
published with  additions,  circa  858,  by  one  Nennius,  a  Briton 
of  the  Latin  Communion,  but  which  originally  was  the  work  of 
Marcus,  a  Briton,  who  was  educated  in  Ireland,  and  became  an 
Irish  bishop. 

Giraldus  mentions  a  fantastic  island  which  had  recently 
Tippeared  all  on  a  sudden,  and  looked  so  very  like  a  whale 
that  the  peasants  thought  it  was  one.     On  their  rowing  out  to 


64  Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners. 

while  burying  a  corpse  in  the  some  part  of  tho  dmrch-yard,  dag  f 
near  the  spot  where  Elepsan  lay  that  he  turned  up  his  skull.  Th 
he  placed  on  a  big,  tall  stone  close  by,  and  it  has  stood  there  ^m 
since.  And  whoever  comes  by  and  looks  at  the  skull,  and  sees  tl 
spot  where  the  mouth  and  tongue  were,  he  must  fain  laugh,  eve 
though  he  chanced  to  be  in  heavy  mood.  So  that  the  antic  moves  n< 
fewer  people  to  laughter  with  his  dead  bones  than  he  did  when  aliY< 

The  reader  will  not  fail  to  perceive  that  in  this  little-knoii 
Scandinavian  book  we  have  the  skeleton  or  the  projected  shado 
of  him  '  who  wont  to  set  the  table  in  a  roar ' — Yorick,  to  wi 
Whence  did  Shakspeare  get  the  first  inkling  of  the  grave-yai 
and  the  jester's  skull?  Had  he  seen  the  '  Mirror'  in  any  shape 
We  do  not  remember  the  legend  in  Bede  or  Saxo,  from  whic 
last  historian,  at  second  hand,  he  borrowed  and  metamorphose 
the  tale  of  '  Amlethus '  or  '  Hamlet.'  Giraldus  does  not  allud 
to  the  legend.  Singularly  enough,  a  legend  much  resemblin 
the  above— even  in  the  name  of  the  hero  of  it — occurs  in  th 
*  Irish  Nennius,'  p.  101 :  '  The  grave  of  Mac  Rustaing,  at  Ri 
Ech,  in  Cailli  FoUamhain,  in  Meath ;  no  woman  has  power  1 
look  at  without  an  involuntary  shriek,  or  a  loud  foolish  laugb 
To  which  the  editor  appends  the  following  note :  *  The  o! 
church  of  Russagh  is  still  remaining,  near  the  village  of  Street  i 
the  north  of  Westmeath ;  but  the  grave  of  Mac  Rustaing  is  r 
longer  pointed  out  or  remembered.  He  was  one  of  the  eigl 
distinguished  scholars  of  Armagh  about  740.  Another  Irish  Ma 
has  it : — 

'  The  grave  of  Mac  Eustaing,  I  say 

In  Bos  Each  without  disgrace. 

Every  woman  who  sees,  shouts, 

Shrieks,  and  loudly  laughs. 

Eritan  was  the  name  of  fair  Mac  Eustaing.' 

The  scene  now  shifts  to  Iceland ;  and  there  is  a  detaile 
a*ccount  of  the  fish  of  those  seas.  The  whale,  as  was  likelj 
occupies  a  large  space.  Several  different  species  are  described- 
some  of  them  whales  proper,  others  no  connection — and  man 
observations  occur,  mixed  with  much  that  is  grotesque  an 
fabulous — throwing  light  on  the  habits  of  the  cetaceans,  ol 
knowledge  of  which,  in  spite  of  the  researches  of  Eschrich 
Tlieinar,  Hartwig,  Lacepede,  Brown,  and  others,  is  still  ver 
incomplete  :— 

*  There  is  one  sort  of  whale,  called  Fishdrivcr,  which  is  most  pro& 
able  of  all  to  man,  for  it  drives  herrings*  and  all  sorts  of  fish  to  lac 
from  the  sea  outside.     Its  nature  is  wonderful ;  for  it  takes  care  n« 

*  Island  let!  »Ud  ;  tho  name  of  thia  fish  even  now  on  tho  East  Coast  of  Englai 
and  ill  Scotland. 


Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners.  G5 

to  Wm  either  ships  or  men ;  jost  as  if  it  was  ordained  for  this  pur- 
pOBe  by  Gk)d ;  but  this  is  only  so  long  as  the  fishers  follow  their 
cilliog  in  peace.  If  they  fall  out  and  fight,  and  blood  is  spilt,  the 
whale  seems  to  be  aware  of  it,  and  at  once  puts  himself  between  the 
M  and  the  land,  and  drives  them  clean  off.  .  .  .  It  is  strictly  for- 
bidden to  capture  or  annoy  it,  on  account  of  its  great  use  to  man.' 

Then  we  have  the  North  whale,  which  is  sometimes  ninety  ells 

long,  and  as  much  round  as  he  is  long,  for  a  rope  just  his  length 

^11  gird  his  body  at  the  thickest  part.     His  head  is  about  a 

third  of  his  girth.     He  is  a  very  clean  liver,  for  men  say  he  feeds 

on  nothing  but  fog  and  rain.     When  he  is  captured,  nothing 

unclean  can  be  found  in  his  stomach,  which  is,  in  fact,  quite 

empty.*    He  has  one   little    difficulty  to  contend  with.     The 

branchiae  inside  of  his  mouth  are  apt  to  get  hitched  across,  if 

he  open  it  too  wide,  so  that  he  cannot  close  it  again,  and  death 

ensues  in  consequence.      He  is  a   peaceable    beast,  and  good 

eating. 

After  enumerating  a  good  score  of  whales,  our  author  says 
there  is  one  fish  not  yet  mentioned.  In  fact,  be  has  scruples 
about  doing  so,  such  incredible  tales  are  told  of  it.  It  goes  by 
Ae  name  of  haf-^ufa  (sea-boiler).  Anyhow,  he  conjectures,  it 
^Ust  be  very  scarce.  Its  method  of  bread-winning  is  eccen- 
^ic.  When  it  is  a-hungered,  it  opens  its  mouth  and  pours  from 
^^etice  such  an  eructation,  that  a  host  of  fish  swarm  around, 
'^guidless  of  their  doom,  under  the  flattering  idea  that  they 
^'^  going  to  have  very  good  times  of  it.  The  entrance  being 
^^  Mride,  not  as  the  proverbial  church-door,  but  as  '  a  fiord,'  they 
P^*s  in  without  the  least  suspicion  of  danger,  and  are  completely 
^^ken  in,  alike  as  metaphor  and  reality — the  monster  closing 
*^**  jaws  when  his  wame  and  mouth  are  full  of  the  imprisoned 
victims. 

^fiut,  after  all,  the  account  of  Hart  wig,  a  modern  author,  is  not 
^^dely  different. 

The  ice  and  fire  of  Iceland  are  now  introduced  by  way  of  a 
Pleajant  variety.  The  ice  the  senior  sets  down  to  the  proximity 
V^  Iceland  to  Greenland — a  conclusion  to  which  the  moderns 
^^Ve  also  come.  Our  author  thinks  that  the  springs  in  Iceland 
*^*^  dead.  They  are  continually  spouting  up  hot  water  high  into 
^^e    air,   summer  and   winter,  and  whatever  Is  cast  Into  them, 


-^  The  sea  of  Spitzbergen  produces  \rhale8  200  foet  long.  They  have  no  teeth. 
^^en  their  bodies  are  opened,  they  find  nothing  but  ten  or  twelve  haiidfuls  of 
1{^  ^^  black  spiders,  whicn  are  engendered  by  the  bad  air  of  the  sea ;  and  also  a 


^^^  ffreen  grass,  which  springs  up  from  the  bottom  of  the  water.  It  is  possible 
^^^t  Uiese  whales  live  neither  on  this  grass,  nor  on  these  spiders,  but  on  the 
^,*JJ«i  of  the  sea  which  produces  the  grass  and  spiders. — J.  Peyrere,  *  Greenland  * 
v*CHe),p.23.    Hakluyt  Society  Publ. 

Vol.  \4A.—No.  S85.  F  clothes 


66  Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners. 

clothes  or  wood,  or  what  not,  comes  up  again  turned  into  stone ; 
so  that  the  water  is  clearly  dead,  for  whatever  it  wets  it  turns  tc 
stone,  and  stone  is  dead.  An  ingenious  syllogism!  But  wc 
must  pick  a  hole  in  it.  As  we  lay  encamped  at  the  Geysirs 
we  threw  into  the  Strockr  some  unconsidered  trifles— one  tra- 
veller hurled  in  his  breeches — and  all  these  articles  were  subse- 
•quently  ejected,  mauled  it  is  true,  but  not  turned  to  stone.  The 
silicious  deposit  of  the  hot  water,  which  petrifies  the  grass 
and  other  objects  around,  is  a  process  requiring  a  much  longei 
time. 

A  theory  is  now  propounded  about  the  cause  of  the  earth- 
quakes *  and  eruptions  in  Iceland.  Nor  do  modern  philosopher! 
seem  to  have  got  much  beyond  it 

'  Sappose  that  the  fire  arises  from  some  natural  properties  of  ih< 
isonntry,  viz«,  that  the  earth's  foundation  is  perforated  with  veins,  oi 
empty  }iiding-places,t  or  vast  holes.  And  these  get  so  full  of  wine 
that  they  cannot  bear  it,  and  so  cause  the  earthquakes.  Now  if  thii 
is  possible,  then  those  fires  which  are  seen  bursting  up  from  111KI13 
parts  of  the  island  originate  from  the  violent  tempests  snd  Gommotioiii 
inside  the  earth.' 

He  does  not  insist  on  the  truth  of  this  conjecture,  but  that  it  is 
a  reasonable  one.  Indeed,  he  himself  has  observed  that  all  fin 
proceeds  from  violent  concussion,  e.g.  from  steel  striking  flint 
or  two  pieces  of  wood  being  rubbed  against  each  other.  So  agaix 
if  two  winds  meet  in  the  air,  there  is  a  great  concussion,  and  fire 
is  struck  out  which  dashes  down  to  the  earth  and  bums  housei 
and  forests,  and  even  ships  at  sea. 

In  the  above  reasoning  we  at  all  events  discern  foreshadowing! 
of  the  physical  law  propounded  by  the  moderns,  that  heat  and 
motion  are  identical. 

Our  would-be  merchant  is  next  introduced  to  Greenland, 
which  was  discovered  first  by  a  Norwegian,  Eric  the  Red,  about 
A.D.  982,  in  the  reign  of  Olaf  Trygvasson,  as  America  was  bj 
the  same  folks  not  long  after.  The  mariner  in  those  seas  neec 
have  a  stout  heart,  for  he  may  chance  to  sail  across  the  path  ol 
the  Hafstramb  (sea-giant). 

'  It  is  tall  and  bulky,  and  stands  right  up  out  of  the  water.  Froxc 
the  shoulders  upward  it  is  like  a  man,  while  over  the  brows  there  is 
as  it  were,  a  pointed  helmet.  It  has  no  arms,  and  from  the  shoulderc 
downwards  it  seems  to  get  smaller  and  more  slender.  Nobody  haf 
ever  been  able  to  see  whether  its  extremities  ended  in  a  tail,  like  thai 


•  According  to  the  *  Edda,'  earthquakes  ore  due  to  the  raging  violence  of  the 
eaptive  Loki  in  his  stone-cell,  wherein  he  is  confined  hy  the  gods  in  mscuIs 
smculorum. 

t  Islandiob  Smuga,    Cf.  sminga,  to  sneak  out,  whence  our  *  smuggle.' 

of 


Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners.  67 

t)f  a  £flli,  or  in  a  point.  Its  colour  was  ice-bine  (Joknll^  colour* 
Neither  conld  anyone  discern  whether  it  had  scales,  or  skin  like  a 
man.  When  this  monster  appeared,  the  sailors  knew  it  to  be  the 
presage  of  a  storm.  If  it  looks  at  a  ship  and  then  dives,  a  loss  of 
life  was  certain ;  but  if  it  looked  away  and  then  dived,  people  had  a 
good  hope  that,  though  they  might  encounter  a  heavy  storm,  their 
hVes  would  be  saved.'  * 

Another  horror  and  we  have  done.  Of  this  the  author  speaks 
▼ith  some  uncertainty,  as  he  avows.  It  goes  by  the  name  of 
Hafjgjerdinff  (seBrgMle  or  fence) ;  the  picture  of  it  recalls  that 
*sea.  mounting  up  to  the  welkin's  cheek,'  which  so  appalled 
Trinculo. 

*  Xt  is  as  if  all  the  storms  and  waves  of  those  seas  had  gathered 
together  on  three  sides  in  three  billows  and  put  a  girdle  round  the 
whole  ocean  ;  higher  than  the  mountains,  and  as  steep  as  a  cli£E^  with 
iu>  outlet  Few  instances  of  escape  are  known,  when  a  ship  has  been 
thus  ingiit.  But  God  must  clearly  have  saved  somebody  alive  to 
^^  the  tale ;  whether  the  above  account  exactly  tallies  with  theirs,  or 
whether  it  be  somewhat  magnified  or  diminished.' 

Ajid  he  goes  on  to  state  how  he  has  met  with  some  who  had 
"'^cceiitly  escaped.  The  whole  mystery  seems  efiTectually  solved 
**y  Professor  Steenstrup,  who  has  recently  shown  that  it  was 
^^Used  by  an  *  earthquake'  of  great  magnitude.  Nay,  he  fixes 
the  very  date  of  one  of  these  phenomena  from  a  passage  in  the 
^ -Lajidnama,'  where  a  Hebrides  man,  who  accompanied  Eric 
^^^  Red's  expedition  to  colonise  Greenland,  986,  composed  a 
P^>ein  called  Hafgerdinga  DrdpaA 

Now   follows   an  interesting   description    of  Arctic  naviga- 

^on  in  days  long  before  Martens,  or  Willoughby,  or  Frobisher 

^^re  heard  or  thought  of.     The  Vikings  did  not  content  them- 

*^lvcs  with  sweeping  the  seas  for  galleons,  or  less  profitable 

PH^es,  or  making  descents  on  the  shores  of  Great  Britain  and 

*^  i^nce  and  elsewhere.     Some  of  them  took  pleasure  in  reposing 

^^en  in  the  chilly  arms  of  such  a  stem  forbidding  nurse  as  the 

*cy  Greenland  ;  while  their  life  would  be  none  the  happier  for 

^^ose  copper-coloured  hornets  of  aboriginals  (skraellingjar,^  as 

^<^ey  called  them)  buzzing  about  their  ears,  in  high  dudgeon  at 

*  BUbop  Eggede  bears  witness  to  the  truth  of  these  statements.  He  belieres 
that  the  author  wrote  after  most  accurate  inquiry.  Cf.  Bafn's  '  Greenland 
Annals.' 

t  Gf.  Hvad  er  Kongespeilets  Hafgjerdiugcr :   af  J.  Steenstrup,  Copenhagen, 

1871. 

X  StrsBling's  '  shrivelled  chips  of  creatures.'  These  are  the  modem  '  Eskimo/ 
vluoh  =  '&t-eater8.'  The  name  which  they  give  themselves  is  'Innuits'  = 
*  the  people.'  For  full  particulars  concerning  Uiese  people,  see  No.  284  of  this 
Beview, '  The  Aiotic  Regions  and  the  Eskimo.' 

F  2  their 


68  Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners. 

their  supremacy  in  those  latitudes  bein^  disputed  by  thesi 
lopers. 

The  author's  account  of  Arctic  navigation  might  hav 
penned  by  Sir  George  Nares.  The  ice-floes  on  the  Gre 
coast,  he  says,  are  from  four  to  five  clls  thick,  and  reach 
sea  as  much  as  four  days'  journey. 

'  They  lie  to  the  north-east  and  north,  then  to  the  south  an^ 
west,  and  therefore,  in  making  the  land,  one  ought  to  steer  we 
along  the  coast,  till  one  has  overlapped  the  ice,  and  then  sail 
land.  It  has  often  happened  that  navigators  have  sailed  for  tl 
too  soon,  and  got  among  the  ice.  Some  of  them  perished  in 
quence,  while  others  escaped ;  and  I  have  heard  the  story  froi 
own  lips.  The  plan  they  pursued,  when  they  were  beset  by  i 
was  to  take  to  tbeir  boats  and  drag  them  over,  and  so  endea 
reach  land,  leaving  their  ship  and  all  their  goods  behind.  Son 
been  out  four  or  five  days  before  they  got  to  shore,  some  longei 
ice  is  of  a  marvellous  nature.  Sometimes  it  lies  as  still  as  p 
with  great  gaps  or  firths  cut  into  it.  At  other  times  it  m< 
quickly  as  a  ship  with  a  good  breeze.  And,  when  once  in  mc 
goes  as  often  against  the  wind  as  with  it.  There  is  another  kin 
in  these  seas  of  quite  a  different  nature,  which  the  Greenlandi 
iceberg.  It  is  just  like  a  tall  cliff  standing  out  of  ihe  sea,  an* 
blends  with  the  other  ice.' 

The  whales,  he  says,  of  Greenland,  are  the  same  as  tl 
Iceland.  Of  seals,  he  enumerates  four  principal  sorts. 
^  open '  seal  is  so  called,  because  it  swims,  not  on  its 
but  its  back  or  side.  It  never  exceeds  four  ells  in  ] 
Another  seal  is  the  '  skemming '  or  *  short '  seal,  which  is 
larger  than  two  ells.  '  They  are  said  to  swim  under  ic 
four  or  five  feet  thick,  and  blow  great  air-holes  right  tl 
them  whenever  they  please  ;  a  marvellous  feat ! ' 

To  the  moderns  also  these  blow-holes  were  long  an  ei 
At  one  time  it  was  thought  that  the  seal  made  them  by  keep] 
toarm  nose  against  the  ice.  But  unfortunately  for  this  the( 
has  a  cold  nose,  not  a  warm  one,  and  that  very  tender.* 
holes  are  in  fact  caused  by  seals,  with  a  wonderful  instinct,  i 
rising  up  in  precisely  the  same  place  to  breathe  while  the 
forming,  and  thus  they  prevent  congelation,  and,  as  Sh 
would  say,  puff  to  some  purpose.  Our  author  in  statin 
there  were  four  principal  species  of  seals,  was  not  fai 
indeed  the  Greenland  seals  are  just  that  number. 

The  walrus  (Rostung)  is  classed  by  the  Greenlanders  j 
the  whales,  but  he  is  of  opinion  that  it  belongs  to  th 

*  *  Mighty  near  my  nose/  as  the  seal  said  when  he  wns  hit  in  th 
Icelandic  Proverb. 


Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners,  69 

tribe.    'His  hide  is  thick   and  good  for  ropes.     From  it  are 

cat  thongs  so  tough  that  sixty  men  or  more  may  tug  at  them 

wthoQt  breaking.'     Of  this  same  tenacious  material  were  the 

ropes  with  which   the  Old  Norsemen    played   their  favourite 

game  of  pully-hauly  against  one  another,  the  vanquished  side 

often  being  hauled  into  an  intervening  pit  or  pool.     Ohthere  of 

Halgoland,  the  very  district  where  our  author  dwelt,  informed 

King  Alfined   that   among    the   tribute   paid   by    the   Fins   to 

Norway  were  hides  of  seal  and  whale  (?  whale-horse,  walrus). 

And  yet  tough  as  it  is,  it  has  served  before  now  to  stay  starving 

stomachs.     When  the  sons  of  Saemund  Odde  were  returning 

from  their  visit  to  King  Hacon,  they  were  wrecked  on  the  coast 

of  Iceland,  and  floated  for  thirteen  days  on  the  wreck.     The 

only  comestible  saved  was  butter,  with  which  they  smeared  the 

walrus-hide    cable  and  bolted  morsels  of  it,  by  which  means 

they  managed  to  exist.* 

*  All  these  creatures  of  the  seal  kind,'  concludes  the  author, 
*  are  called  fish  ;  but  their  flesh  nevertheless  is  not  reckoned  as 
such,  for  it  may  not  be  eaten  on  fast  days,  whereas  the  whale 
niay.* 

*  What  on  earth,'  puts  in  the  son,  *  makes  people  risk  their 
lives  in  going  thither  ?  Cui  bono  ?  How  do  the  inhabitants  of 
those  regions  exist?  Can  they  grow  com,  or  are  land  and 
^ater  alike  frozen  ?  Is  it  an  island  or  a  continent  ?  Are  the 
"^asts  there  like  those  of  other  lands  ?'  Questions  which  would 
nave  done  credit  to  an  intelligent  member  of  the  Zoological  or 
Royal  Geogp-aphical  Society  in  the  nineteenth  century.  We 
nave  not  space  for  the  interesting  reply. 

In  answer  to  his  son's  further  question,  whether  Greenland  lies 

^0  the  outside  of  the  earth,  or  where?  the  father  conjectures, 

^pon  good  authority,  that  Greenland  has  no  land  beyond  it 

^ortbward,  but  that  it  borders  on  tJuit  great  wild  ocean  that  sur^ 

^^ids  the  globe.     And  learned  men  say  that  a  sound  cuts  into 

Greenland  by  which  the  great  world-ocean  ramifies  into  fiords 

^^   bays  all  over  the  earth.     In  lat.  75°,  the  ship  '  Germania ' 

^'^^^xed   a    spacious   fiord,    and    found    there    beautiful    alpine 

f^Ocry,  with  cascades  and  waterfalls,  which  they  were  prevented 

u  ^^  exploring  further ;  but  they  conjectured  it  pierced  through 

"^     country  westward  to  the  ocean.     For  about  it  they  found 

^'^^i   oxen  in   abundance,  an    animal   which  has  never  been 

^®^5^  before,  except  on  the  west  coast,  and  which  must  have 

^^^ved  thither  either  by  tracking  all  round  the  coast  south- 

^**xis,  or  by  valleys  across  the  interior,  hitherto  unknown. 

»  Torfaeua  *  Hist.,*  iv.  40. 

The 


70  Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners. 

The  following  is  interesting : — 

'  This  is  the  nature  of  the  Northern  Light  (Nordnr  Lios)  that  it  ii 
always  the  more  brilliant  the  darker  the  night,  and  it  always  appear 
by  night  and  never  by  day ;  oftenest  in  pitch  darkness,  and  not  b^ 
moonshine.     The  appearance  of  it  is  as  if  one  saw  at  a  distance 
great  glow  shooting  np  sharp  points  of  flame  of  nneqnal  height, 
very  unsteady.    And  while  these  gleams  of  light  are  at  their  '  '  ' 
and  brightest,  one  can  very  well  see  to  find  one's  way  out  of  doorsy 
even  to  go  on  the  chase.  And  in-doors,  if  there  be  a  window  *  it  is 
light  that  folks  can  plainly  see  each  other.    So  variable  is  the  " 
that  at  times  it  seems  as  if  dark  smoke  or  thick  fog  were  rising  im^ 
and  smothering  it.   But  when  this  dissipates,  the  light  begins  to  gTO>' 
clearer  and  brighter.    Nay,  at  times  it  seems  to  emit  great 
like  a  mass  of  iron  glowing  hot  from  the  furnace.     As  day  nears, 
gradually  feules,  untU  it  vanishes  outright.     Three  guesses  have  ~ 
made  as  to  the  cause  of  the  phenomenon.     Some  affirm  that 
waters  encircling  the  earth's  ball  are  surrounded  by  fire.f    And 
Greenland  lies  on  the  extreme  northern  edge  of  the  earth,  the  North< 
Light  may  be  a  reflection  of  this  fire-ring.     Others,  again,  conjecto^i^rc 
that  at  night,  when  the  sun's  course  is  beneath  the  earth,  a  ^int 
its  rays  may  strike  the  heaven  above ;  as  from  the  proximity  of  Gi 
land  to  the  outer  edge  of  the  globe  there  is  little  of  its  convexity 
intercept  their  passage  upwards.    Another,  and  not  the  least  lik< 
conjecture,  is  that  the  light  in  question  is  generated  by  the 
mass  of  ice  prevailing  in  those  regions.' 


This  conjecture  is  partly  adopted  by  Krantz.  He  su{ 
that  the  vast  accumulation  of  ice  which  blocks  up  the  shores 
Greenland  may  have  some  connection  with  the  formation 
the  Northern  Lights  ;  and  in  describing  the  stupendous  *  i( 
blink/  a  large  elevated  sheet  of  ice  on  the  western  coast, 
says,  it  casts  by  reflection  a  brightness  over  the  sky,  simil-^ — ^ 
to  the  Northern  Lights,  and  which  may  be  seen  at  a  gie  =^^ 
distance. 

Our  readers  will  remember  the  wonderful  Aurora  visible  ^^»^ 
over  Europe  some  years  ago.  '  I  suppose  it  was  the  reflectid — ^" 
of  the  Arctic  ice,'  observed  a  Yorkshire  yeoman  to  the  writ»^ — ^^ 
of  these  lines.  We  may,  however,  remind  our  readers,  th 
electricity  is  now  generally  believed  to  be  at  the  bottom  of  tl 
phenomenon.  The  less  philosophically  inclined  may  take  reft 
in  the  image  of  Southey : — 

'  Gleams  of  the  glory,  streaks  of  flowing  light. 
Openings  of  heaven,  and  streams  that  flash  at  night 
Li  fitful  splendour  through  the  Northern  sky.' 


♦  57{/ar,  litemlly  *  sky  light.*    In  out-of-the-way  parts  of  Scandinavia  such , — 
orifice  is  even  now  the  only  window  of  soaie  cottages.    Cf.  Metcalfe's  'Oxonii*^- 
in  Thelcmarkcn.'  f  *  Flammantia  moDnia  mundi.* — Lucrdiut. 

B       0^ 


Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners,  71 

Bat  we  must  pass  over  much  Interesting  matter. 

With  one  *  leetle  practical  speering/  the  dialogue  winds  up, 
viz.,  When  ought  one  to  be  in  port  in  autumn  ?  XVII.  Kal. 
Noyember  is  the  reply. 

'S6ft-&ring  is  now  unsafe.  Days  shorten,  nights  grow  darker,  the 
set  is  disquieted,  billows  strengthen,  rains  are  stour,  storms  increase, 
breakers*  wax,  strands  refuse  to  afford  safe  havens,  men  are  dazed 
(daiBst),  freights  are  cast  overboard,  and  numbers  perish  from  over 
much  hardihood.' 

And  so  concludes  the  first  Part  of  '  The  King's  Mirror.' 
At  the  next  interview  the  son  informs  his  father  that  to  sea  he 
Intends  to  go,  and  put  some  of  his  precepts  in  practice.     But  it 
^ght  happen  that  on  foreign  voyages  he  took  a  fancy  to  go  to 
V^ort  and  see  more  refined  manners  than  are  met  with  among 
^^^ers.     'I  wish,  therefore,  to  learn  here  at  home  from  you, 
Unless  you   think   it   a   thriftless   labour,   the  etiquette  of  the 
^<-Jourt?* — 'Thriftless!  by  no  manner  of  means!    It  cannot  be 
^Iriftless  ;  for  there  is  the  fountain  of  all  good  manners  and 
Courtesy  (kurteisi) ;  although,  let  me  tell  you,  at  Court,  as  else- 
where, there  are  manners  and  manners.' 

We  now  enter  upon  a  most  curious  disquisition  on  Court 
banners.  The  Early  English  Text  Society,  by  the  publication 
^f  Henry  Rhodes's  '  Boke  of  Nurture  and  School  of  Good 
banners,'  John  Russel's  '  Boke  of  Nurture,'  &c.,  has  made  us 
Acquainted  with  the  fact  that  in  England  there  was  in  the 
Cfteenth  century  quite  a  literature  on  these  topics — a  literature 
perpetuated  by  such  books  as  '  Counsellor  Manners'  Advice  to 
liis  Son,'t  and  the  more  famous  '  Letters  of  Chesterfield.'  But 
Sew  people  would  imagine  that,  early  in  the  thirteenth  century, 
"Up  yonder  in  that  Ultima  Thule,  Scandinavia,  such  care  was 
liestowed  on  external  behaviour  as  is  apparent  in  this  work  ; 
iKrhichy  with  none  of  the  coarseness  of  the  '  Book  of  Courtesy,'  is 
also  free  from  the  questionable  morality  of  Chesterfield. 

Bat  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  mere  going  to  Court 
^would  make  one  a  gentleman.  Twelve  months'  constant  resi-^ 
<lence  would  be  hardly  sufficient  to  give  a  man  the  requisite  ton^ 
even  though  he  possessed  much  natural  adaptability  and  tact. 
Indeed,   there    are   hangers-on    at  Court  a  life- long,   your  Sir 

♦  la.  bodar,  properly  *  boders,*  t.  e.  of  hidden  rocks ;  a  capital  expression  for 
l^rcakers.  What  a  power  and  a  pictaro  in  them  these  old  Scandinavian  words 
liad  I  *  BUmyr/  for  instance  =  *  blue  moor,*  said  of  the  sea  1  Can  Mr.  Tennyson 
l>eatthat? 

t  The  full  title  of  this  quaint  work  is  *  Counsellor  Manners*  last  legacy  to  his 
•on,  enriched  and  embellished  with  grove  avisos,  excellent  histories,  and  inge- 
nious proverbs  and  apothegms,'  by  J.  D.  (John  Dore),  printed  and  to  be  sold  by 
T.  Shelmerdine  at  the  Rose  Tree,  Little  Britain.    2nd  ed.  1673.    3rd,  1698. 

Mungos, 


72  Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners, 

Mungos,  who  never  learn  good  manners  or  courtesy,  'just  as  men 
will  go  to  Jerusalem  and  come  back  the  dullards  that  they  went* 
The  old  Icelandic  proverb, '  Betra  spurt  en  ovis  vera  *  (*  Better 
speer  than  not  be  sure '),  seems  to  be  the  motto  of  our  inquiring 
tiro,  for  he  persists  in  his  queries :  '  Would  it  not  be  preferable 
to  be  a  free  country  farmer,  than  be  a  mere  parasite  at  the  nod 
and  beck  of  the  king?'  This  view  of  Court  life  provokes  the 
governor's  bile,  who  seems  to  have  a  natural  antipathy  to  the 
sordid  lot  of  your  '  base  mechanical,  your  rustic  ()?orpari),  your 
clownish  ploughboy  (plogkarl).'     The  answer  is, 

< Everybody  throughout  the  kingdom  is  at  the  king's  disposals 
whether  to  send  on  a  foreign  mission  to  pope  or  monarch,  or  on  a 
warlike  expedition,  or  what  not.  All  arc  bound  to  do  his  bidding 
whether  clerk,  abbot,  bishop,  or  farmer.  Surely  then  it  is  better 
bo  a  regular  Court  official,  and  enjoy  the  king*s  friendship  and  pro- 
tection, and  so  have  precedence  everywhere,  than  bo  a  mere  BezomftH 
and  country  bumpkiu,  and  play  second  fiddle  and  eat  humble-pS-.^ 
everywhere !  The  name  of  king's  house-carle  is  by  no  means  to  l^p" 
despised ;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  a  highly  honourable  title,  which  maDL  'Z 
an  invalided  courtier  or  officer  is  only  too  proud  of.' 


The  author  gives  a  very  high  standard  of  Court-life  doubt! 
but  with  that  innate  love  of  the  noble  and  chivalrous  implante^-* 
in  these  Northerners,  it  is  not  impossible  that  some  might  hai^^ 
reached  in  act  what  another  had  been  able  to  conceive  and  prg^ 

scribe.     In  short,  the  way  in  which  Scandinavia,  with  very  littl 

acquaintance,  comparatively,  with  southern  politeness,  letter^B 
and  religion,  marked  out  for  herself  an  original  line  in  each  cur 
these,  betokens  an  abundance  of  native  genius. 

The  following  is  practical :- — 

*  Consider  that  foreign  envoys  of  high  breeding  may  visit 
Court ;  who  will  look  very  sharply  at  the  manners  of  the  King  an 
his  entoura^fe,  and  criticise  them  all  the  more  keenly  the  more  polishc 
they  are  themselves.  And  when  they  return  home  they  will  report 
all  that  they  have  seen  and  heard.  These  reports  of  foreign  Courts  nr^'^ 
sure  to  be  strongly  featured — full  of  scorn,  or  full  of  approbatioi^ 
Only  think,  if,  at  some  grand  lev^,  where  archbishops,  and  earls,  an^ 
bishops,  and  prefects,  and  knights,  and  hirdmeu  were  present,  one  o  ^ 
these  great  dignitaries  made  a  hole  in  his  manners !  What  a  butt  h^ 
would  be  for  ridicule  I  Or  if  one  of  the  hirdmen  were  to  be  guilty 
of  a  breach  of  politeness,  straightway  the  King  would  get  the  blame 
for  folks  would  say  that  it  was  from  him  the  manners  of  the  Cour  "" 
took  their  colour.  "What  are  life  and  limb  worth  when  a  man,  by  hi^ 
vulgarity  has  disgraced  his  sovereign  I ' 

The  bare  possibility  of  such  a  catastrophe  at  once  sharpen 
the  youth's  curiosity. 


Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners.  73 

*It  is  qnite  probable  that  I  may  visit  the  King  and  enter  his 
soryice,  as  my  finther  and  kinsmen  have  done  before  me,  winning  for 
tbemselyes  thereby  much  honour  and  royal  favour.  I  prithee,  there- 
fore, tell  me  how  I  should  address  the  King.  Inform  me  distinctly 
of  my  demeanour  and  dress,  and  everything,  in  short,  that  will 
comport  with  the  royal  presence.* 

Ad$w 


er 


^Iwill  suppose  that  you  have  arrived  at  Court,  and  your  errand 

thither  is  to  enter  the  King's  service.      First,  you  will  diligently 

inqnire  who  the  persons  are  that  are  wont  to  usher  in  strangers. 

These  you  will  conciliate,  and  disclose  to  them  your  business,  begging 

them  to  forward  it.     Those  who  are  most  with  the  King  know  the 

hest  time  for  approaching  him.     If  you  have  to  make  known  yom* 

petition  to  him,  when  he  is  at  table,  be  sui*e  and  get  accurate  intel- 

f^^ce  whether  he  is  in  a  good  humour.     And  if  you  learn  that  he 

^  not  so  blithe  (ublidur)  as  usual,  or  put  out  about  something,  or 

^  occupied  in  a^airs  of  weight  that  he  cannot  attend  to  your 

matter,  then  let  it  rest  that  day,  and  try  if  you  can  find  him  more  at 

f  eisure,  or  in  better  humour,  another  day ;  but  mind  and  wait  till  he 

»«  nearly  full.' 

This  judicious  choice  of  the  mollia  tempora  fundi  for   ap- 

pJ'oaching  his  Majesty  with  the  '  Sifflication,  is  highly  amusing, 

^nd  not  less  so  his  practical  acquaintance  with  the  old  proverb, 

't  is  ill  talking  between  a  full  man  and  a  fasting.' 

Some  important  precepts  on  dress  follow.*     He  must  don  his 

^^t  suit,  be  well  hosed  and  shod,  have  both  doublet  and  cloak. 

**i»  breeches  must  be  brown  or  scarlet ;  or  they  may  be  of  black 

*^ather.     His  doublet  brown,  green,  or  red,  according  to  his 

^ste.     His  linen  of  good  material,   but  cut  scant  and  close- 

*»ttinj 


»§:• 


*  Your  beard  must  be  dressed  in  the  prevailing  fashion.f     When  I 

^^^  at  Court  it  was  the  fashion  to  have  the  hair  cut  shorter  than  the 

^^**lobes,  and  combed  smooth  all  round,  with  a  short  forelock  over 

Y^  brows.     They  wore  the  whiskers  and  moustache  cut  short,  and 

^^^-beard  dress^  in  the  German  fashion.    And  I  doubt  whether  any 

^  ^  Qhakapeare  on  dress  with  bis  *  neat  not  gaudy '  has  never  been  surpassed. 

^^  aome  lesser  lights  must  be  allowed  to  illustrate  this  weighty  topic. 
^^  *  Xhy  clothes  neat  and  fashionable,  not  over  guudy,  tliat  the  wi&^cr  sort  of  men 

^y  not  take  theo  for  the  long's  jester.' — Couunellor  Manners^  15.    Cf.  Ibid.  45. 

*  ^e  extremely  neat  and  clean  in  your  person  and  perfectly  well  dressed, 

'^ixiing  to  the  fashion,  be  that  what  it  wUi:— Chesterfield,  i.  406. 
^    t*    *  If  all  the  Court  cut  their  hair  short,  I  would  not  have  thee  wear  thine  long, 
.^^  J^  If  tliey  wear  Ions  hair,  I  would  not  have  thee  wear  thino  even  to  thine  ears, 

ijcb  would  mako  thee  show  like  a  ducatoon.' — Manners^  40. 
t«^^^or  an  account  of  the  changes  in  England  in  the  style  of  wearing  the  hair, 
i^   Hewetfs  'Ancient  Armour,'  i.  150,  and  Strickland's  'Queens  of  England,' 

fashion 


74  Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners, 

fashion  can  como  into  vogae  that  will  look  neater,  or  bo  better  suite 
to  a  man-at-arms.' 

We  see  that  the  question  of  beards  or  no  beards  was  as  mud 
an  affair  of  moment  then  as  now.  The  fashion  had  altered  sine 
the  days  of  Hacon  Jarl,  when  the  Jomsburg  Vikings  are  de 
scribed  as  wearing  their  hair  long  and  flowing.  At  length,  al 
things  being  propitious,  at  a  sign  from  the  door-keeper,  OQi 
juvenile  aspirant  enters  the  royal  presence,  leaving  his  cloak  ii 
the  hands  of  his  attendant :  his  hair  combed  smooth,  his  bearc 
well  stroked :  no  hat,  cap,  or  coif  (kveif)  on  his  head,  his  hand 
bare :  his  countenance  suave,  and  his  whole  person  thoroughly 
cleansed.  His  head  and  figure  must  be  erect,  his  gait  statelj 
but  not  too  slow. 

The  next  instructions  must  be  given  verbatim : 

'  When  you  come  to  the  King,  bow  humbly,  and  salute  him  thus 
"  God  give  thee  good  day,  ray  lord  the  King."  If  his  Majesty  is  • 
table  on  your  entrance,  do  not  do  what  many  a  blundering  lout  ha 
done,  lean  against  the  table,  much  less  sprawl  over  it  like  an  uncouth 
idiot.  But  take  up  a  position  so  far  from  it,  that  all  the  domestic 
can  easily  get  between  you  and  the  board.  But  if  the  King  is  not  a 
table,  approach  only  so  near  that  the  servants  have  room  to  pas 
between  you  and  the  King's  footstool. 

'  Your  hands  ought  to  be  so  disposed  that  the  right  clasps  the  lei 
wrist     And  let  them  sink  before  you  as  you  find  most  convenient' 

The  proper  oflBcer  will  then  represent  the  matter  to  the  King 
and  if  he  requires  a  little  time  for  inquiry,  our  youngster  mus 
hang  about  the  Court,  living  at  his  own  charges,  unless  perchanc 
he  is  bidden  to  the  royal  table.  He  must  be  sure  and  not  ge 
the  reputation  of  sponging  upon  others  for  a  dinner ;  a  piece  c 
advice,  by-the-by,  to  be  found  in  that  very  ancient  repertory  c 
Icelandic  saws,  the  '  Havarmal,'  and  well  worthy  the  study  c 
those  social  parasites  who,  though  quite  able  '  to  entertain 
themselves,  regard  all  hospitality  as  a  one-sided  affair,  and  t 
them  not  appertaining. 

One  thing  puzzles  our  ingenious  youth,  viz.,  why  a  ma; 
should  wear  no  cloak  in  the  royal  presence,  when,  if  such  a  thin ; 
were  done  in  the  country,  it  would  raise  a  horse-laugh  amoo| 
the  bystanders  ;  and  a  man  would  be  written  down  zany,  fa 
turning  out  just  like  a  gipsy.  The  explanation  for  the  fashit^ 
is,  first,  that  it  betokens  a  readiness  to  serve,  as  it  were,  with  gi* 
loins  ;  and  secondly,  as  a  precaution  against  the  concealed  daggc 
of  the  cloaked  assassin. 

Here  follows  a  little  picture  which  might  have  been  take 
from  the  '  Fortunes  of  Nigel.' 


Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners.  75- 

'When  jon  are  in  the  King's  presence  be  sure  not  to  converse  with 
those  aronnd,  but  attend  carefully  to  what  the  King  says,  so  that  you 
may  not  have  to  ask  him  to  repeat  his  words.  It  often  happens  when 
a  man  is  standing  in  the  royal  presence  that  people  keep  crowding 
about  him,  and  speering  all  manner  of  questions.  In  some  this  is 
doe  to  gaucherie  ;  others  do  it  because  &ey  would  not  bo  sorry  if 
they  c»uld  mar  the  cause  of  the  petitioner.  Now  if  anybody  plays 
yoQ  this  trick,  have  a  fair  word  in  your  mouth  for  him,  thus :  ''  Bide 
a  bit,  good  man,  while  I  list  to  the  King ;  syne  I  will  gladly  have 
speech  with  thee ! "  And  if,  after  this,  he  goes  on  speaking,  don't 
answer  a  word  till  the  King  has  stopped  speaking.  Be  careful  to- 
oae  the  plural  in  addressing  the  King.  Above  all,  mind  you  don't 
do  what  some  fools  do,  speak  of  yourself  in  the  plural,  and  of  the 
King  in  the  singular.  Should  it  so  befall  that  the  King  says  aught 
which  you  do  not  catch,  don't  reply,  "  Ha !  How?  What?"  Merely 
^J,  **  Let  it  not  displease  your  Majesty  that  I  speer  what  you  said  to 
^i  for  I  did  not  quite  comprehend."  Don't  let  the  King  have  to 
explain  his  words  too  often.' 

A  similar  piece  of  advice   is   given    by  the   contemporary 
anther  of  the  German  poem,  *  The  Italian  Guest,'  already  men- 
tioned : — 

*  A  younker  must  be  ever  quick 
To  catch  what  people  say  : 
So  need  they  not  repeat  their  words. 
Which  is  but  sorry  play : 
Nor  must  he  stand  upon  the  bench 
On  which  the  knights  do  sit,'  «&c. 

.Our  candidate  for  Court  favour  is  next  supposed  to  enter 
lairlj  on  his  duties.  Early  in  the  morning  he  must  repair 
^  ^lie  King's  lodgings  neat  and  clean.  He  must  then  accom- 
?^^y  his  Majesty  to  church  and  listen  devoutly  to  the  service, 
^^  when  he  leaves  the  church  keep  within  call,  but  not  so 
''^^*"  as  to  inconvenience  him  in  case  he  wishes  to  converse 
^^^li  anybody. 

Suppose  the  King  goes  out  for  a  walk,   the  courtiers  will 

^^^c^mpany  him,  not  in  a  round  mass  pressing  upon  him,  but  in 

^^^   little  equal  columns,  on  either  side,  and  at  such  a  distance 

.^"t  he  can  converse  without  being  overheard.     At  table  they 

^^1    speak   low,   so   that  their  neighbours  on    either  side  will 

"^^      hear  all  they  say.     Excess  in  drinking   they  will  avoids 

^J^^ning  themselves   to  a   moderate   enjoymcmt   of  the  good 

^f^^gs.     One  thing  they  will  specially  attend  to  ;  whenever  the 

I  ^K  has  got  his  head  in  his  tankard,  they  will  refrain  from 

^J^ing  a  pull  at  theirs.     Even  though  it  is  raised  to  their  lips, 

th^y  must  set  it  down  again.     The  same  respect  must  be  shown 

^  ^he  Queen. 

Again,. 


71}  Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners. 

Again,  suppose  chieftains  of  note,  whom  the  King  delig 
to  honour,  enter  the  apartment,  all  the  courtiers  must  rise 
once  and  greet  them.      Indeed,  the  same    attention  must 
shown  to  any  of  the  courtiers  on  his  entrance.     The  two  fi 
sit  next  him  will  rise  and  bid  him  welcome. 

Wherever  they  are,  they  will  never  forget  their  position  ;  th 
tone  will   be  subdued  and  their  gestures   dignified ;    and 
ribaldry  will  be  carefully  eschewed. 

Military  exercise  and  equipments  follow  ;  and  by-and-by  ' 
author  gets  the  bit,  so  to  say,  in  his  teeth,  and  dashes  at  i 
career  through  a  complete  catalogue  of  the  armour,  offensi 
and  defensive,  then  in  use.  The  King,  in  *  Hamlet,'  if 
remember,  talks  admiringly  of  a  gentleman  of  Normandy,  lat 
a  visitor  at  the  Danish  Court,  who  had  served  against  1 
French.     He — 

*  Grew  into  his  seat, 
And  to  such  wondrons  doing  brought  his  horse, 
As  he  had  been  incorpsed  and  deminatured 
With  the  brave  beast.' 

The  Centaur  he  had  in  his  eye  was,  likely  enough,  a  pi 
Norwegian.  Then  follow  some  useful  hints  on  equitati 
where  opportunity  offers. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  he  is  stationed  in  a  city  where  there 
no  opportunity  of  riding,  he  will  practise  fencing  on  foot  w 
some  accomplished  swordsman,  native  or  foreign,  equipped  w 
target  or  buckler.  He  ought  to  do  this  in  heavy  armour 
chain  or  plate,  and  a  sword  to  correspond.  If  he  wishes  to 
a  proficient  he  will  practise  the  tricks  of  offence  and  defei 
twice  a  day ;  never  less  than  once,  unless  it  be  a  holy  day.  . 
KingVmen  ought  to  learn  these  useful,  nay,  necessary  a 
So  thought  the  Dane  Laertes,  who  by  long  practice  was 
dexterous  in  the  use  of  the  rapier,  that  M.  Lamode  must  i 
confess : — 

*  The  scrlmors  of  his  nation 
Had  neither  motion,  guard,  nor  eye, 
If  he  opposed  them.' 

^  In  war  be  tenacious,  but  not  headlong.  Let  others  b 
witness  to  your  prowess ;  do  not  boast  of  your  own  exploits,  1< 
hereafter,  the  death  of  those  you  have  slaughtered  should 
visited  upon  yourself,  and  that  on  your  own  provocation.' 
does  not  here  speak  without  warrant.  Instances  occur  in 
Sagas  of  Northmen  bragging  in  Mickligardr  (Constantinoj 
and  elsewhere  of  their  having  done  to  death  some  redoubta 
Viking ;  and,  while  the  words  are  upon  their  lips,  their  skul 

c 


Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners.  77 

cleft  snddenlj  from  behind.     It  is  the  avenger  of  blood,  a  near 

relative  of  the  deceased,  who  has  tracked  the  manslajer  with 

slow  bat  sure  foot,  and  found  him  out  at  last.     Now  comes  a 

ii?ims  classiats  for  machines  of  war.     And  then  follows  a  sentence 

iv^liich  modem  cheeseparers  might  study  with  benefit :  *  All  these 

-tbings  ought  to  be  provided  and  their  use  learned  beforehand, 

►r  nobody  knows  how  soon  they  require  to  be  used.     It  is  good 

have  a  stock  in  hand,  even  if  not  wanted  now.' 

It  was  to  their  superior  armour  that  the  Irish  author  of  *  The 

Cjraedhill  and  the  Gaill '  attributes  the  victories  of  the  Northmen 

over  his  countrymen.      At  Clontarf,  1014,  while  King  Brian 

s^^ands  apart  from  the  fray,  reciting  scores  of  paternosters,  the  lad 

I.»atean  describes  what  passes  before  his  eyes.     The  Norsemen 

tie  calls  *  blue  stark-naked '  men,  having  evidently  never  seen 

men  sheathed  in  steel  before.     ^  Azure  Gentiles '  is  another  and 

similar  appellation  given  them.     For  a  life-like  picture  of  these 

Northern   warriors,    see   an    old    Danish    ballad  (*  Grundtvig,' 

r^art  III.,  180),  describing  the  abduction  of  Thorsten's  bride, 

which  occurred  1287  : — 

'  Yond  are  three  hundred  warriors  bold, 
All  as  a  cushat  blue ; 
The  steed  that  is  cased  in  silk  attire, 
Bides  the  chieftain  of  the  crew. 

'  Yond  are  three  hundred  warriors  bold, 
Near  by  the  castlo  yard ; 
Outside,  they  all  in  silk  are  clad, 
Inside,  with  ring-mail  hard. 

*  Well  whetted  of  each  is  the  glaive. 
And  bended  ier  every  bow  ; 
Stem  wrath  is  within  their  bosoms, 
Fell  vengeance  sits  on  their  brow.' 

This  reminds  us  of  the  Scotch  ballad  : 

'  There  were  four-and-twenty  bonnie  boys, 

A*  clad  in  the  Johnstone  gray ; 
They  said  they  would  take  the  bride  again, 
By  the  strong  hand  if  they  may.* 

A.t  the  youth's  request,  the  principal  machines  used  in  sieges 
^15^  enumerated.     In  one  machine  it  is  very  interesting  to  see 
^^  principle  of  the  modern  ballast-truck,  and  of  the  bombshell 
^^inbined. 

^.^  The  shooting- truck  (skotvagn)  is  a  gcod  contrivance.  It  is  made 
J^j^  an  ordinary  carriage,  either  on  two  or  four  wheels.  This  must 
^  loaded  with  stones,  cold  or  hot.     Fixed  to  it  are  two  chains,  one 

on 


80  Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners. 

The  father  proceeds : — 

'  Gk>od  breeding  consists  also  in  the  choice  of  your  apparel, 
in  colour  and  other  respects ;  in  knowing  when  it  is  proper  to 
your  cloak,  or  hat,  or  coif,  and  when  to  go  without  them.' 

If  the  reader  objects  that  these  rules  are  puerile,  Couns 
Manners  and  Chesterfield  come  to  our  rescue.  The  foi 
pithily  says  to  his  son :  *  Let  not  thy  beaver  be  made  w: 
steeple  crown,  whilst  the  crowns  of  other  men's  hats  are 
lest  they  that  meet  thee  take  thee  for  a  stalking  antic,  o; 
image  broken  loose  from  an  old  piece  of  arras.'  * 

While  my  Lord  might  have  drawn  his  awkward  fellow  i 
the  Icelandic  text :  '  His  hands  are  troublesome  to  him,  ¥ 
h6  has  not  something  in  them,  and  he  does  not  know  w 
to  put  them.  They  are  in  perpetual  motion  between  his  be 
and  his  breeches.' 

The  salient  features,  nay,  the  finer  nuances^  of  mor 
(moeurs)  are  next  portrayed  with  much  insight,  thougl 
times  a  slight  confusion  is  made  between  it  and  politei 
between  manners  and  morals. 

There  is   a   long  and  quaint  episode  on  the  Fall,  wh< 
Lucifer,  turning  '  nithering '  against  his  Lord,  takes  the  si 
of  an  asp.     In  those  days  this  animal  went  on  two  leg^, 
body  upright  and  the  face  of  a  woman,  but  with  a  tail  behi 
And  so  ends  our  budget  of  extracts  from  *  The  Royal  Mirro 

In  an  age  of  acknowledged  licentiousness,  and  when  an  ei 
tially  base  code  of  morals  prevailed,  especially  among  the  hi 
classes,  not  a  syllable  of  a  lax  or  immoral  tendency  escapes 
author.  While  an  English  nobleman  of  the  eighteenth  cent 
in  his  letters  to  his  son,  did  not  scruple  to  postpone  moral 
manners,  sincerity  to  complaisance,  we  have  here  a  father  oi 
twelfth  century,  not  less  noble  by  birth,  exalted  in  station, 
polished  in  utterance,  who,  albeit  he  pillories  awkwardness 
vulgarity  as  keenly  and  mercilessly  as  the  Earl,  never  omil 
extol  morality  and  hold  up  virtue  to  admiration.  Of  woi 
though  they  are  rarely  mentioned,  he  always  speaks  with  i 
rence  and  never  in  disparagement ;  though  a  contempo 
English  writer,  Neckam,  did  not  scruple  to  call  the  fair  ' 
Sathans.'  Again,  in  the  chapter  of  state  affairs,  there  is  not 
crooked  and  Machiavellian ;  all  is  simple  and  sincere.  Ir 
monarchical  ideas  there  is  nought  savouring  of  sycophancy 


*  *  Counsellor  Manners/  15.    *  Chesterfield,*  1.  21. 

t  Among  the  wall  painting  in  the  Chapter-house  at  Salisbury,  dating, 
remember  rightly  from  1158.  there  is  none  more  curious  than  the  *•  Tempta 
where  the  figure  of  the  Asp  in  the  text  is  repeated  to  the  most  minute  detai 


Old  Norse  Mirror  of  Men  and  Manners.  81 

king  worship  ;  no  court  holy-water  descends  upon  the  sovereign. 
If  he  commits  faults,  he  must  himself  smart  for  it ;  no  whipping 
boy  is  at  hand,  no  scapegoat  to  bear  the  penalty  of  his  sins. 
Night  and  day,  from  his  youth  upward,  he  must  give  heed  to  his 
momentous  duties.  And,  per  contra^  the  writer  is  equally  alive 
to  what  is  required  of  the  king's  subjects.  A  genuine  patriot, 
he  is  always  deeply  impressed  with  the  importance  of  every 
Norwegian  endeavouring  in  his  own  person,  his  dealings  and 
beharioor,  to  uphold  the  honour  and  fair  name  of  his  country. 
His  motto  is  Xirdprrjv  eXaye?  ravrrjv  Kotr/jLei. 

A  most  chequered  miscellany  the  work  no  doubt  is,  but  mis- 
cellanies were  the  fashion  of  the  time.  Nay,  this  very  diversity 
of  subjects  is  clear  gain  as  far  as  modem  inquiry  is  concerned, 
though  the  work  may  suffer  thereby  in  point  of  artistic  unity, 
for  to  this  kind  of  writing  we  owe  so  much  of  our  knowledge  of 
out-of-the-way  facts,  which  would  otherwise  have  been  lost  in 
oblivioiL  Most  books  in  those  days  compassed  all  creation  in 
their  scope,  or  by  way  of  illustration.  Everything  was  grist 
that  came  to  the  author's  literary  mill.  No  historian  of  a 
country  would  think  of  commencing  later  than  the  siege  of 
Trojr ;  possibly  he  went  further  back  still,  and  started  '  ab  ovo 
Lcda.*  Every  poetical  effusion  would  be  sure  to  embrace  the 
Mnge.  Again,  natural  wonders  were  always  a  popular  topic. 
Our  own  Robert  of  Gloucester,  in  his  rhymed  *  Chronicle,*  the 
inost  ancient  professed  history  in  the  English  language,  is  also 
*  wonder-monger.  After  telling  us  that  the  vicinity  of  Salisbury 
abounded  in  *  wylde  bestes  *  of  the  chace,  and  that  the  county  of 
I'jncolne  is  celebrated  for  fairest  men,  he  describes  the  waters 
of  Bath,  Stonehenge,  and  the  Peak  of  Derbyshire. 

With  regard  to  our  author's  scientific  knowledge,  we  have 
f«en  that  it  is  by  no  means  contemptible.  Witness  his  inquiries 
iBto  the  cause  of  volcanoes  and  earthquakes,  an.d  say  whether 
your  Humboldts  and  Daubeneys  have  probed  much  deeper  into 
the  cause  of  the  mysterious  underground  activities. 

Hit  modest  conjectures  in  the  domain  of  physical  science 
^  him  much  credit ;  if  we  consider  that  he  lived  in  an  age 
when  astrology,  the  cabala,  and  the  philosopher's  stone  were 
fenly  believed  in.  Always  sober-minded,  he  makes  a  point  of 
Weighing  evidence  before  forming  his  conclusions,  in  the  true 
T>irit  of  a  philosophical  inquirer.  If  at  times  he  indulges  in 
the  marvellous,  gravely  relating,  on  good  authority,  his  tales 
*^»  the  Irish  wehrwolf,  of  the  stick  petrified  at  one  end  and 
^niaining  real  wood  at  the  other,  of  the  islands  of  the  dead 
^nd  of  the  living,  all  he  can  say  is  he  has  taken  very  great 

Vol  143. — No.  285.  G  pains 


84  Dr.  Carpenter'*  Mental  Physiology. 

movement  of  the  loggin-stone  of  the  Land's  End,  in  their 
equally  owe  their  origin  to  the  unfolding  of  an  infinite  web  of 
succession,  the  one  modified  as  little  by  the  personality  of  'tlie 
poet  as  the  other  by  the  choice  of  the  block  of  granite.     Dr. 
Carpenter  gives  a  few  extracts  from  a  book  of  the  late  IVf  iss 
Martineau   and  Mr.   Atkinson,  which  he  justly  regards  as    "the- 
most  thorough-going  expression  of  this  doctrine  in  its  extreme 
form.     We  quote  one,  not  so  much  on  this  account,  as  becoLUse 
it  seems  to  show  plainly  the  path  which  led  to  it, — nam  el j, 
the  influence  which,  as  Bacon  remarks,  the  particular  pursuit 
which   may  enjoy  a  kind   of  primogeniture  with  any  thinker, 
always  exerts  upon  him  in  the  shaping  of  his  philosophy. 

'  In  material  conditions  I  find  the  origin  of  all  religions,  all  philo- 
sophies, all  opinions,  all  virtues,  all  spiritual  conditioDS  and  inflneiioes ; 
in  the  same  manner  diat  I  find  the  origin  of  all  diseases  and  of  all 
insanities  in  material  conditions  and  causes  ....  I  feel  that  I  am 
as  completely  the  result  of  my  nature,  and  impelled  to  do  what  I  do,  as 
the  needle  to  point  to  the  north,  or  the  puppet  to  move  according 
as  the  string  is  pulled.' 

The  school  of  thought,  on  the  other  hand,  whose  starting^ 
point  is  the  investigation  of  man's  intellectual  and  spiritual 
nature,  commencing  as  it  docs  with  the  facts  of  individual  ooD" 
sciousness,  is  no  less  unwilling  to  contemplate  any  interference 
arising  out  of  external    laws  with  the  absolute  supremacy  oi 
individual  freedom,  than  the  materialists  are  to  acknowledge  tb^ 
possibility  of  any  arbitrary  variation  in  them.     In  the  earlier 
ages  of  society  the  facts  of  individual  consciousness  are  the 
very  first  which  attract,  and  all  but  monopolise,  attention.  Every 
force  of  nature  is  personified  in  the  philosophy  of  a  primitive 
people,  no  less  than  in  their  poetry  and  their  mythology.    No* 
only  are  the  trees  of  the  forest,  and  the  brooks  which  run  amoo^ 
them,  identified    with  Dryads  and   Naiads,   not  only  do  Ai^^ 
and  Athene  symbolise  the  incarnation  of  brute  force  and  sagacity « 
but  the  great  problem  (which  presents  itself  in  different  shapc?^ 
to  every  age)  of  reconciling  to  the  imagination  the  two  idefl^^ 
of  Liberty  and  Law,  appears  in  the  Homeric  poems  as  a  oott»-*^ 
parison  between  the  strength  of  Fate  and  of  Jupiter.     Nothiik-.^ 
can  be  more  certain  than   that  the  notion  of  personality  is   ^ 
primitive  one,  of  course  for  many  ages  altogether  undevelopC"^^ 
and  crude,  but  seen  to  be  acted  upon  wherever  there  is  any  recoT^^ 
of  human  doings,  implied  in  every  creation  of  the  imaginati<i>^* 
which  has  excited  human  sympathies,  and  recognised  in  thcltf**^ 
guage  of  every  portion  of  the  human  race.    Even  when  we  con*^ 
to  later  times,  and  professed  philosophers,  the  old  modes  of  thoflgt^* 

itil-^ 


Dr.  Carpenter'*  Mental  Physiology.  85 

still  exhibit  themselves  where,  to  our  modern  judgments,  they  are 
most  inappropriate.  Aflfection  and  Strife  are  the  forms  under 
which  the  materialist  Empedocles  exhibits  the  properties  which 
we  call  attraction  and  repulsion. 

Whatever  extension  may  be  given  in  the  immediate  future  to 
the  cultivation  of  the  physical  sciences,  and  however  widely  they 
maj  come  to  be  substituted  in  the  higher  schools  for  the  studies 
which  have  hitherto  nourished  the  mental  growth  of  the  upper 
classes  of  England,  there  is  little  fear  that  the  effects  will  follow 
which  some  apprehend.  The  favourite  study  of  mankind 
^ways  has  been,  and  always  will  be,  man  himself — and  not 
man  as  a  machine,  but  as  a  living,  acting,  feeling,  thinking 
being,  the  subject  of  hopes  and  fears,  aspirations  and  aversions. 
If  the  Roman  satirist,  when  he  described  his  work — 

« Quicquid  agunt  homines,  vitinm,  timer,  ira,  voluptas, 
Gaudia,  discorsus,  nostri  est  farrago  libelli' — 

could  have  suspected  that  a  time  would  ever  arrive  when  the 
Various  features  in  the  picture  of  human  corruption  which  he 
Panted,  wquld  be  regarded  by  philosophers  of  reputation  as  mere 
'jmbols  expressing  the  reflex  action   of  nervous  currents,  he 
^ould  undoubtedly  have  given  vent  to  his  spleen  at  the  in- 
fluence of  foreign  savants  in  even  bitterer  terms  than  those  in 
which  he  indulges.    But  such  indignation  would  have  been  as 
J^isplaced  as  the  terrors  of  some  modern  divines  are.    Every  new 
^ae^  creates  an  enthusiasm  in  the  minds  of  those  who  have  first 
^i^^sped  it,  which  renders  them  incapable  of  viewing  it  in  its 
^'^^  proportions   to   the   sum   total   of  knowledge.      It   is   in 
^tteir  eyes  no  new  denizen  of  the  world  of  facts,  but  a  heaven- 
^^^t.  ruler   of  it,   to   which   all   previously   recognised   truths 
JJ^i^  be  made  to  bow.     As  time  goes  on,  truer  views  obtain. 
•*  t^e  new  principle  ceases  to  be  regarded  either  as  a  pestilent 
^^liasion  or  as  a  key  to  all  mysteries.     Its  application  comes  to 
^     1)etter  defined  and  its  value  more  reasonably  appreciated, 
^b.^n  both  idolaters  and  iconoclasts  have  passed  away,  and  a 
^^'^  generation  begins   to   take   stock    of  its   intellectual    in- 
"^^^tance. 

TThe  book  of  Dr.  Carpenter  is  an  attempt  to  mediate  between 
^h^  extreme  Psychologists  and  Physiologists.  He  regards  the 
^^i«ative  power  of  the  human  will,  and  the  self-determined  con- 
'"■'^ion  of  the  individual  man  in  the  exercise  of  it,  as  primary 
lao^  of  which  we  have  the  complete  evidence  in  our  own  con- 
^^ousness.  But  not  the  less  does  he  accept,  with  certain 
"***itatious,  the  doctrines  which  the  Physiological  School  urge 


Aft 


86  Dr.  Carpenter'*  Mental  Physiology. 

as  incompatible  with  such  a  view.     He  frankly  confesses  the 
merits  at  the  outset. 

*  What  modem  research  seems  to  me  to  have  done,  is  to  elucidate  1 
mechanism  of  Automatic  action ;  to  define  with  greater  precision  i 
share  it  takes  in  the  diversified  phenomena  of  Animal  l^e,  psjchii 
as  well  as  physical ;  and  to  introduce  a  more  scientific  mode  of  Uiou^ 
into  the  Physiological  part  of  the  inquiry.  But  in  so  far  as  tk< 
who  profess  to  be  its  expositors  ignore  the  fundamental  facts  of  c< 
sciousness  on  which  DesCartes  himself  built  up  his  philosophical  fabx 
dwelling  exclusively  on  Physical  action  as  the  only  thing  with  wki 
Science  has^to  do,  and  repudiating  the  doctrine  (based  on  the  univer^ 
experience  of  Mankind)  that  the  mental  states  which  we  call  Yolitic 
and  Emotions  have  a  causative  relation,  they  appear  to  me  to  gn 
only  one  half  of  the  problem,  to  see  only  one  side  of  the  shield.  T] 
the  principle  of  the  conservation  of  Energy  holds  good  not  less  u^  i 
Living  body  than  in  the  Inorganic  world,  I  was  myself  among  i 
earliest  to  maintain.  That  in  the  most  powerful  muscular  effort  whi 
can  be  called  forth  by  the  Human  Will,  there  is  no  more  a  crecUi 
of  Energy  than  in  an  Automatic  convulsion,  I  believe  as  firmly 
Professor  Clifford.  And  that  the  general  tendency  of  modem  scic 
tific  research  is  to  extend  the  domain  of  Law  to  every  form  of  munda 
change — the  belief  in  the  Uniformity  of  Causation  being  now  assum* 
as  axiomatic  in  all  scientific  procedure — I  recognise  as  fully  as  U 
Herbert  Spencer.' — Preface^  p.  xvi. 

There  is  no  question  that  automatism,  including  in  th] 
term  both  mental  and  bodily  activities,  plays  a  very  large  pa: 
in  the  life  of  every  one.  What  the  limits  of  that  part  are  : 
the  real  question  at  issue,  and  this  it  is  the  object  of  Dr.  Cai 
penter's  work  to  point  out.  The  book  is,  in  fact,  a  survej  c 
the  borderland  between  the  region  of  Physical  Causation  an 
Moral  Causation,  taking  its  departure  from  the  ground  of  th 
physiologist.  It  naturally  enters  largely  into  anatomical  details 
which  however  necessary  for  the  establishment  of  the  authoi^ 
argument  in  the  minds  of  his  fellow-experts,  are  the  reverse  c 
attractive  to  the  general  reader.  We  will  therefore  endeavou 
to  spare  him  as  much  of  these  as  we  can  without  injury  to  th 
understanding  of  the  case. 

That  all  our  knowledge  of  the  external  world  arises  from  th 
impressions  made  upon  our  senses  is  allowed  by  all  philosopher 
of  whatever  school  since  the  time  of  Locke ;  but  the  reall, 
important  point  to  ascertain  is,  whether,  in  the  very  act  c 
acquiring  this  knowledge,  we  have  not  evidence  of  somethinj 
more  than  the  external  world — that  is,  of  the  Ego^  the  sentieo 
subject,  our  own  personality.  It  might  be  possible  to  acquiesc 
in  a  denial  of  this,  if  the  whole  of  our  existence  consisted  of  on 

unvarying 


Dr.  Carpenter'^  Mental  Physiology.  87 

miTaiying,  single  sensation;  but  as  soon  as  ever  any  the  least 

variation  of  this  is  perceived^  personality  shows  itself  in  its 

simplest  form,   viz. — ^as   the   identical   subject  of  two  diverse 

sensations.     Let  us  merely  suppose  these  sensations  multiplied 

and  varied,  each  in  its  turn  leaving  its  trace  in  the  shape  of 

a  remembrance,  and  the  result  will  be  something  analogous  to 

what  is  continually  experienced  in  a  dream,  where  image  after 

image  springs  up  in  an  apparently  arbitrary  manner,  the  sleeper 

bearing  no  other  part  in  it  than  that  of  the  spectator  of  a  moving 

phantasmagoria. 

Now  in  this  simplest  form  of  personality  there  is  not  involved 
the  idea  either  of  knowing  or  of  acting.     The  Ego  is  in  it 
nothing  more  than  the  passive  recipient  of  a  string  of  impres- 
sions.    He  can  have  no  thought  either  of  any  law  by  which  this 
succession  is  regulated,  or  of  any  power  in  himself  of  modifying 
them.    We  will,  however,  proceed  a  step  further.    Let  us  suppose 
these  sensations  divided  into  several  similar  groups.     The  obser- 
Tation   of   this    regular   recurrence   constitutes    an   elementary 
knowledge  for  the  Ego.     He  apprehends  an  order  by  which  his 
sensations  follow  one  another.     Now,  let  us  suppose  that  these 
groups,  though  infinite  so  far  as  appears  in  number,  are  divided 
into  several  classes  (which  we  will  denote  by  the  letters  of  the 
alphabet),  so  that  there  are  several  A's,  several  B's,  several  C's, 
And  so  on ;  and,  further,  that  an  A  is  always  succeeded  by  B, 
*>metimes  but  not  always,  also  by  C,  and  never  by  D.     The 
^o  now  increases  his  stock  of  knowledge,  but  it  is  still  a  com- 
^^^unftisited,  not  an  acquired  knowledge — it  is  the  knowledge  of 
^  observer  pure  and  simple,  not  of  a  thinker  ;  it  is  the  knowledge 
of  Plamsteed,  while  noting  and  tabulating  the  lunar  movements, 
'^^t  the  knowledge  of  Newton,  deducing  from  those  movements 
"^^  law  of  gravitation.     The  Ego^  by  acquiring  this  knowledge, 
"*^  become  an  ens  scienSy  but  as  yet  is  in  no  respect  aniens  agens. 
■^**d  however  much  we  may  suppose  the  groups  of  sensations 
^••*^ed  and  complicated,  and  in  consequence  the  aggpregate  of  the 
^i^^municated  knowledge  increased  for  the  Ego^  he  remains  still 
**^Ogether  passive,  the  product  (except  so  far  as  consciousness  is 
^*^cemed)  of  external  forces,  as  much  as  the  mature  plant  is  the 
Jl'^^'^Wluct  of  the  pains  bestowed  upon  it  by  the  gardener.     If  then 
?^     matured  powers  of  the  man  are   really  developed   out  of 
|*"*>ple  sensations  by  a  similar  process,  however  wonderful  and 
'^^li)rate,  it  cannot  be  contested  that  he  must  be  classed  in  the 
^^^*^e  category  as  the  plant. 

-^ut  now  let  us  see  how  far  the  phenomena  even  of  infancy 
^^^*Tant  any  such  conclusion.  Our  classes  of  sensations,  just  now 
^^^oted  by  the  letters  of  the  alphabet,  are  here  those  which 

reack 


90  Dr.  Carpenters  Mental  Physiology. 

perhaps,  in  meditation  on  some  subject  which  happens 
occupy  our  minds.  Mr.  Mill  thought  out  the  greater  pari 
his  '  System  of  Logic '  during  his  daily  walks  between  K 
sington  and  the  India  House ;  and  no  one  who  passes  throi 
the  Bank  of  England,  during .  business  hours,  will  be  a 
to  fancy  that,  of  the  hurrying  crowd  he  sees,  a  single  in 
vidual  is  bestowing  a  thought  upon  that  '  co-ordination  of 
muscular  actions,'  without  which  it  would,  nevertheless,  be  : 
possible  for  him  to  carry  his  dividend-warrant  to  his  banker'i 

But  let  us  suppose  one  of  these  men  of  business  sudde 
seized  with  blindness.  He  would  instantly  stop  in  his  car 
although  just  before,  while  hastening  over  familiar  grou 
and  taking  no  heed  of  anything  but  the  matter  uppermost  in 
thoughts,  he  was  utterly  unconscious  that  his  eyes  were  rem 
ing  him  any  service  at  all.  Here,  then,  it  is  plain  that  not  o 
was  there  a  mechanical  co-ordination  of  the  locomotive  muse 
but  likewise  co-ordination  between  them  and  the  visual  orgi 
Yet  of  this  the  merchant  had  not  the  slightest  concepti 
From  the  time  he  set  out,  therefore,  he  has  been  the  subjec 
an  extremely  complicated  automatism,  no  volition  having  b 
exerted  by  him  any  more  than  after  having  put  himself  inl 
*cab,  volition  would  have  been  exerted  by  him  in  driving  it.  *! 
whole  act  of  going  from  place  to  place  is,  of  course,  volitioi 
but  the  volitional  character  of  it  does  not  permeate  the  en 
sequence  of  motions,  but  is  derived  from  the  initial  purp 
The  merchant  wills  to  go  to  his  banker's,  and  he  tcills  to 
by  walking.  His  purpose  brings  his  eyes  and  limbs  into  acti 
and  between  them  they  perform  the  operation  which  he  des 
to  see  effected ;  but  they,  nevertheless,  perform  it  automatics 
his  will  no  further  interfering  after  having  once  given  its  c< 
mand,  and  his  attention  being  occupied  by  altogether  diffei 
matters. 

The  important  part  played  by  the  co-operation  of  the  sen 
of  which  we  are  all  the  time  unconscious,  is  exhibited  n 
clearly  in  some  cases  of  accident.  Thus  the  sensory  nerve  < 
limb  may  be  paralysed,  while  the  force  of  the  motor  nerve 
the  same  limb  remains.  But  the  latter  cannot  by  any  efibr 
the  will  be  brought  into  action  (the  sense  of  muscular  resists 
being  lost  through  the  paralysis  of  the  sensory  nerve)  witJumt 
aid  of  the  eye,  A  woman  thus  affected  found  that  she  co 
not  support  her  infant  on  her  arm  without  constantly  lool 
at  it.  The  removal  of  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  in  spite 
her  knowledge  that  the  child  was  resting  on  her  arm,  and  of 
-desire  to  sustain  it,  was  at  once  followed  by  a  relaxation  of 
contracted  muscles. 


Dr.  Carpenter'*  Mental  Physiology^  91 

The  reflex  movements,  as  those  are  called  which  are  produced 
by  the  motor  (or  efferent)  nerves  in  response  to  the  messages 
<^onvejed  through  the  afferent  nerves,  are  not  necessarily  accom- 
panied by  feeling. 

*  If  the  head  of  a  frog  bo  cut  off,  and  the  spinal  cord  be  divided  in 
tbe  middle,  so  that  the  forelegs  remain  connected  with  the  upper  part, 
and  the  hind  legs  with  the  lower,  each  pair  of  members  may  be  excited 
^io  movement  by  a  stimulus  applied  to  itself,  but  the  two  pairs  will 
not  exhibit  any  consentaneous  motions,  as  they  will  do  when  the 
spinal  cord  is  undivided.' 

In  a  case  of  paralysis  of  the  lower  extremities,  recorded  by 
Hunter,  the  patient  was  asked  whether  he  felt  the  irritation 
l>y  which  *  reflex  movements'  in  his  legs  were  produced,  and 
replied,  *No,  sir,  but  you  see  my  legs  do.'  In  two  cases  of 
injury  to  the  spine,  recorded  by  Dr.  William  Budd,  in  which 
sensibility  of  the  legs  was  for  a  time  nearly  destroyed,  and 
Voluntary  action  entirely  so,  violent  contractions  followed  the 
tickling  of  a  feather  in  the  hollow  of  the  instep,  although 
tlie  patient  was  quite  unconscious  of  the  cause  of  them. 
It  is  remarkable  that  in  these  cases,  as  recovery  (which  took 
place  very  slowly)  progressed,  and  voluntary  power  gradually 
J^etnmed,  the  susceptibility  to  the  involuntary  reflex  movements 
^liminished. 

Dr.  Carpenter  holds  that  the  will,  when  carrying  into  action 
^  determination  of  the  intellect,  does  not  act  directly  upon  the 
•^iiucles  which  execute  the  mandate,  but  indirectly  through  the 
automatic  mechanism,  of  which  the  act  of  walking,  as  we  have 
J^i«t  seen,  furnishes  a  familiar  example.  The  head-quarters  (so 
^^  speak)  of  this  mechanism  is  the  axial  cord,  receiving,  as  it 
<loe8,  all  the  nerves  of  sense  and  giving  out  all  the  nerves 
^f  motion ;  and  this,  under  different  modifications,  is  found  in 
•^11  animals. 

*  "We  should  form,'  says  Dr.  Carpenter,  *  a  very  erroneous  notion  of 
J^liat  essentially  constitutes  the  brain  of  a  Yertebrated  animal,  and  of 
y^  mutual  relations  of  the  aggregate  of  ganglionic  centres  of  which 
^*  is  composed,  if  we  were  only  to  study  it  in  Man,  For  the  great 
^*%tive  size  and  complexity  of  his  Cerebrum  tends  to  conceal  the 
^^damental  importance  of  those  ganglionic  centres  on  which  it  is 
?^^P^rpofied,  and  which  constitute  no  less  an  important  part  of  his 
r'^iii  than  they  do  of  that  of  Fishes ;  although  their  proportional  size 

^  So  much  less  as  to  lead  to  their  being  commonly  regarded  as  merely 
^^bordinate  appendages  to  the  Cerebrum.  The  brain  of  a  Fish  is 
_**^08t  entirely  composed  of  an  aggregate  of  ganglia  of  Sense,  which 
^^y  be  regarded  as  collectively  constitutiug  its  Sensorium,  that  is, 
^^^^^iding  ta  ordinary  phraseology,  the  **  seat  of  consciousness,"  but, 

m.OT^ 


92  Dr.  Carpenter'*  Mental  Physiology. 

more  oorroctly,  the  Nerve-centre,  throngh  the  inBtmmentality  of  whi 
the  Ego  becomes  conscious  of  Sense-impressions.  Patting  aside  1 
rudimentary  Cerebrum,  therefore,  we  may  regard  the  Axial  Cord 
the  Fish  (consisting  of  its  Spinal  Cord  with  tiie  Sensory  gangliik^ 
the  instrument,  like  the  gangliated  cord  of  the  insect,  of  its  automA 
movements ;  of  which  such  as  are  executed  through  the  Spinal  cen'i 
do  not  involve  Sensation,  whilst  in  those  of  which  the  Sensory  Gkoi^ 
are  the  instruments.  Sensation  necessarily  participates.  When, 
the  other  hand,  in  ascending  the  Vertebrate  Series  from  FiEL 
toward  Man,  we  compare  the  different  grades  of  development  of 
Cerebrum  with  the  successively  augmenting  mamfestations  of  tnte 
gence  (as  exhibited  in  what  we  must  regard  as  an  inteiUional  adajc 
tion  of  means  to  ends  under  the  direction  of  experience)^  we  find, 
remarkable  a  correspondence  as  scarcely  to  leave  room  for  donbt  id 
the  Cerebrum  is  the  instrument  of  those  Psychical  operations  wli 
we  rank  under  the  general  designation,  rational.  In  proportion 
the  actions  of  an  animal  are  directed  by  this  endowment,  the  numl 
of  them  that  can  be  said  to  be  primarily  automatic  becomes  not  oi 
relatively  but  absolutely  limited ;  although  many  actions  (especially 
Man)  which  were  in  the  first  instance  initiated  by  the  Will,  come  idl 
long  habit  to  be  as  truly  automatic  as  if  they  had  been  so  originaL 
—P.  64. 

After  tracing  the  increasing  relative  magnitude  of  the  ce 
brum  (or  its  analogue),  as  we  ascend  the  scale  of  vertebra 
from  its  lowest  member,  the  fish,  to  its  highest,  man,  Dr.  C 
penter  proceeds  to  that  portion  of  his  work  which  will  chiefly 
terest  the  bulk  of  his  readers — the  inquiry  into  the  mode  in  wh: 
this  highest  organ,  the  cerebrum,  is  subservient  to  those  higl 
mental  operations,  the  capacity  for  which  specially  characteri 
man,  though  among  some  of  the  other  mammalia  may  be  fou 
(he  thinks)  distinct  approximations  to  it.  The  general  fs 
that  the  development  of  the  cerebrum  indicates  the  predoi 
nance  of  intelligence  over  instinct,  is  universally  allowed ;  a 
the  principle  seems  to  hold  good  to  a  g^reat  extent,  not  oi 
when  we  compare  different  races  of  mankind,  but  even  diffien 
individuals  of  the  same  race. 

The  anatomical  distinction  between  the  cerebral  her 
spheres  of  man  and  the  analogous  organ  of  other  anim 
shows  itself  especially  in  the  complexity  of  the  arrangement 
the  nerve  fibres  of  which  the  medullary  substance  is  compose^ 

'  These  may  be  grouped  under  three  principal  divisions.  The  J? 
which  may  be  distinguished  as  the  radiating  fibres,  connect  l 
different  parts  of  the  Cortical  layer  *  with  the  Sensori-motor  tract 

wh 


*  This  *  Cortical  layer '  consists  of  nerve-cells  spread  out  on  the  surface  of 
cerebrum ;  not  as  is  the  case  with  ordinary  ganglia,  of  which  latter  they  fora 


Dr.  Carpenter'*  Mental  Physiology,  93 

which  the  CeFebnim  is  superposed  ;  and  it  is  probably  that  there  are 
two  sets  of  these,  one  ascending  from  the  terminals  *  of  Uie  sensory  tract 
of  the  Axial  Cord  to  the  Cortical  layer,  and  conveying  to  it  the 
result  of  the  physical  changes  produced  in  them  by  the  Sense-im- 
pressions which  ^ey  receive ;  the  other  descending  from  the  Cortical 
layer  to  the  terminals  f  of  the  motor  tract  of  the  Axial  Cord,  and  con- 
veying to  them  the  Physical  results  of  the  changes  which  take  place 
in  itsdf.     These  fibres,  which  bring  the  instrument  of  Intelligence 
and  Will  into  relation  with  that  portion  of  the  nervous  apparatus 
which  furnishes  the  Mechanism  of  sensation  and  of  the  automatic  or 
instinetiYe  motions,  were  called  by  a  sagacious  old  Anatomist,  Eeil, 
the  nerves  of  ike  internal  senses.     The  second  set  of  fibres  brings  the 
serenl  parts  of  the  Cortical  layer  into  mutual  communication.     The 
ttiangement  of  these  commissural  fibres  is  peculiarly  complex  in 
Uftn.    The  third  set  of  fibres,  termed  iniercerebral,  connects  the  two 
hemispheres  of  the  Cerebrum  together  by  a  broad  band.^     This  also 
is  much  more  developed  in  Man  than  in  any  of  the  lower  Mammalia. 
It  is  altogether  wanting  in  Fishes,  Eeptiles,  and  Birds.     There  is  a 
rudiment  of  it  only  in  Marsupials  and  Bodials.    Cases  have  occurred 
iQ  which  it  has  been  nearly,  or  even  entirely,  deficient  in  Man ;  and 
It  is  significant  that  the  chief  defect  in  the  characters  of  such  indi- 
Tidoals  has  been  observed  to  be  a  want  of  forethought,  t.e.,  of  power 
^  Apply  the  experience  of  the  past  to  the  anticipation  of  the  future.' 
—P.  99. 

There  is  no  indication,  in  the  case  of  man,  of  a  transfer  to  the 
^^rebrum  of  the  proper  attributes  of  the  other  nervous  apparatus. 
Its  substance  is  insensible,  and  no  physical  impression  made 
^pon  it  is  felt  by  the  subject  of  it.  It  has  been  removed  from 
pigeons,  the  sensory  ganglia  being  left  intact ;  and  the  respond- 
ent motions  to  external  impressions  have  remained  unaltered. 
-^be  bird  seeks  out  the  light  parts  of  a  partially  illuminated 
^^m,  and  avoids  objects  that  lie  in  its  way.  If  thrown  into  the 
f  ^  it  flies,  and  when  sleeping  at  night,  with  closed  eyes  and 
Its  head  under  its  wing,  is  roused  by  the  slightest  noise,  just  as 
1*1  its  normal  condition. 

There  is,  however,  according  to  Dr.  Carpenter,  one  cha- 
racteristic of  the  cerebrum  which  is  common  to  it  and  to  the 
^n»ori-motor  nerves — it  is  subject  to  reflex  automatic  action. 
**'^gtuding  memory,  from  his  point  of  view,  as  the  *  psychological 
^presiion  of  physical  changes  in  the  cerebrum,'  he  considers 

^^  of  mternal  nucleus.  It  is  covered  by  the  membrane  called  the  pia  mater, 
Jaich,  being  entirely  composed  of  blood-vessels  held  together  by  a  connecting 
^■•^,  causes  a  far  larger  supply  of  blood  to  the  cortical  layerjn  proportion  to  its 
"^oatance  than  to  any  other  part  of  the  body. 

•  The  'Thalami  OpticL*  t  The  *  Corpora  Striata.' 

♦  TTie*  Corpus  Callosum.' 

*  traces ' 


96  Dr.  Carpenter',^  Mental  Physiology. 

fall  distinctness,  but  even,  it  would  seem,  increasing  in  vi 
from  the  fact  that  the  Ego  is  not  distracted  from  attending  to  the 
by  the  continual  influx  of  impressions  produced  by  passing  even 
The  extraordinary  persistence  of  early  impressions,  when  the 
seems  almost  to  have  ceased  to  register  new  ones,  is  in  remar]Eal>l_. 
accordance  with  the  law  of  Nutrition.     It  is  a  Physiological  fiebot,  tb^c^ 
Decline  essentially  consists  in  the  diminution  of  the  formative  activi.'^^;^ 
of  the  organism.     Now  it  is  when  the  Brain  is  growing  that  a  defiom.-^ 
direction  can  be  most  strongly  and  persistently  given  to  its  stmctna^  ^ 
Thus  the  habits  of  thought  come  to  be  formed,  and  those  nerve-traa 
laid  down  which  (as  the  Physiologist  believes)  constitute  the  mechani 
of  association,  by  the  time  the  brain  has  reached  its  maturity ; 
the  nutrition  of  the  organ  continues  to  keep  up  the  same  mi 
in  accordance  with  the  demands  on  its  activity,  so.  long  as  it  is 
called  into  use.     Further,  during  the  entire  period  of  vigorous  Mtk 
hood,  the  Brain,  like  the  Muscles,  may  be  taking  on  some 
growth,  either  as  a  whole  or  in  special  parts ;  new  tissue  being 
veloped  and  kept  up  by  the  nutritive  process,  in  accordance  with 
modes  of  action  to  which  the  organ  is  trained.     And  in  this 
a  store   of  *'  impressions "  or  traces  is  accumulated,  which  nmy 
brought  within  the  sphere  of  consciousness,  whenever  the  right  si 
gcsting-strings  are  touched.    But  as  the  nutritive  activity  diminish. ^><^ 
the  ^  waste  "  becomes  more  active  than  the  renovation ;  and  it  woixl^ 
seem  that  while  (to  use  a  commercial  analogy)  the  "  old-establisb.^^ 
houses  "  keep  their  ground,  those  later  Arms  whose  basis  is  less  secimz^ 
are  the  first  to  crumble  away, — the  nutritive  activity,  which  yet  sofSc^e^ 
to  maintain  the  original  structure,  not  being  capable  of  keeping  t2i>^ 
subsequent  additions  to  it  in  working  order.     This  earlier  degenearJir- 
tion  of  later  formed  structures  is  a  general  fact  perfectly  ffl-TwiliM* 
the  Physiologist/— P.  442. 

There  is  a  kind  of  abbreviating  process  in  mental  operatioi 
which  may  serve  further  to  illustrate  the  principle  of  the 
cession  into  unconsciousness  of  recoverable  ideas.  The  mo*^ 
familiar  instance  of  this  is,  perhaps,  the  act  of  composition.  1^ 
the  object  of  the  writer  be  to  produce  conviction,  his  argumer**^ 
must  be  at  the  same  time  logical,  and  suited  to  the  capacity 
modes  of  thought  of  the  reader  whom  he  addresses.  They  mi 
also  be  set  out  in  correct  and  perspicuous  language.  But 
of  these  considerations  are  present  to  the  practised  writer  duriL 
the  act  of  composition.  He  has  not  a  thought  at  the  time  ^^ 
the  elementary  propositions  on  which  his  fabric  of  reasoning'  ^^ 
built  up  ;  or  of  the  observation  of  human  nature,  which  is 
foundation  of  his  judgment  as  to  the  best  way  of  putting 
case ;  or  of  the  grammatical  laws  which  are  obeyed  in 
construction  of  his  style.  He  notes  them  as  little  as  he 
the  formation  of  the  letters  traced  by  his  pen.     Yet  it  is 

impossi 


Dr.  Carpenter*  Mental  Physiology,  97 

poisible  to  doubt  that  logical  readiness,  practical  tact,  and 
^nu»fal  style  are  formed  from  the  materials  of  a  mental 
lerience,  built  up  in  accordance  with  the  laws  of  reason  in 

several  applications,  as  that  the  printed  essay  or  pamphlet 
nade  up  of  combinations  of  letters  of  the  alphabet.     So  do 

speculations  of  the  most  advanced  mathematicians  imply 

acceptance  of  the  elementary  geometrical  truths,  although 
may  safely  believe  that  in  the  composition  of  the  ^Mecanique 
este,'  the  illustrious  author  never  thought  of  his  obligations 
!!uclid. 

!^he  curious  question  now  suggests  itself,  what  is  the  nature  of 
te  sudden  intuitions  which  occasionally  present  themselves, 
ch,  so  far  as  can  be  discovered,  have  no  connection  whatever 
li  any  immediately  antecedent  idea  ?  Are  they  independent  of 
general  law  of  association,  absolutely  severed  from  the  mental 
dition  which  has  preceded  them — Singular  Points,  as  it  were, 
he  great  curve  of  our  conscious  existence  ?  Or  are  they  the 
jping  up,  unexpectedly,  of  a  link  in.  a  chain  which  has 
Eted  all  the  while  below  the  plane  of  our  consciousness, 
ject  to  the  same  law  of  association  with  our  ordinary 
ights?  The  exposition  of  Dr.  Carpenter's  views  on  this 
ject  forms,  in  our  judgment,  the  most  interesting  portion 
ius  work — the  chapter  on  UNCONSCIOUS  CEREBRATION.  He 
t  some  pains  to  remove  the  prejudice,  which  he  believes  to 
t,  on  moral  and  religious  grounds,  against  his  explanation 

le  phenomenon. 

laving  found  reason/  says  he, '  to  conclude  that  a  large  part  of 

ntellectual  Activity — whether  it  consist  in  reasoning  procoBses  or 

)  exercise  of  the  Imagination — is  essentially  automaiiCy  and  may 

loribed  in  Physiologic  language  as  the  reflex  (iction  of  the  Cere' 

we  have  next  to  consider  whether  this  action  may  not  take  place 

ciously.    To  affirm  that  the  Cerebrum  may  act  upon  impressions 

itted  to  it,  and  may  elaborate  intellectual  reiralts,  such  as  we 

have  attained  by  the  intentional  direction  of  our  Minds  to  the 

,  without  any  consciousness  on  our  own  parts,  is  held  by  many 

ysicians,  more  especially  in  Britain,  to  be  an  altogether  un- 

and  even  a  most  objectionable  doctrine.     But  this  affirmation 

the  Physiological  expression  of  a  doctrine  which  has  been 

among  the  Metaphysicians  of  Germany,  from  the  time  of 

to  the  present  date,  and  which  was  systematically  expounded 

illiam  Hamilton, — that  the  Mind  may  undergo  modifications, 

6  of  very  considerable  importance,  without  being  itself  con- 

the  process,  until  its  results  present  themselves  to  the  con- 

i,  in  die  new  ideas,  or  new  combinations  of  ideas,  which  the 

la  evolved.    This  '*  Unconscious  Cerebration,"  or  ^  Latent 

Klification  "  is  the  precise  parallel,  in  the  higher  (rohere  of 

3.— No.  285,  H  Cerebral 


98  Dr.  Carpeiiter*5  Merited  Physiology, 

Cerebral  or  Mental  activity,  to  the  movements  of  onr  limbs,  and 
direction  of  these  movements  through  our  visual  sense,  whidi  we 
in  train  volitionally  when  we  set  out  on  some  habitually  repei 
walk,  bnt  which  then  proceed  not  only  automcUicaUy^  but  unconaciou^t^ 
so  long  as  our  attention  continues  to  be  uninterruptedly  diverted  firc^ 
them.  It  was  by  reflection  on  this  parallelism,  and  on  the  pecmlS^ 
structural  relation  of  the  Cerebrum  to  the  (Ganglionic  tract  whidi 
to  constitute  the  SeiMorium  or  centre  of  consciousness,  alike  for 
external  and  the  internal  senses,  that  the  Writer  was  led  to  the  icKc 
that  Cerebral  changes  may  take  place  uneaMdottdy,  if  the  SensoricBJi 
be  either  in  a  state  of  absolute  torpor,  or  be  for  a  time  non-reoept£'w« 
as  regards  these  changes,  its  activity  being  exerted  in  some  otlB.^ 
direction ;  or,  to  express  the  same  fact  Psychologically,  that  men'fta] 
changes,  of  whose  reeulte  we  svibeequenUy  become  conscious,  may  go  on 
below  tiie  plane  of  consciousness,  either  during  profound  sleep,  or 
while  the  attention  is  wholly  engrossed  by  some  entirely  difforazit 
train  of  thought.'— Pp.  615-616. 

A  very  common  form  of  the  phenomenon  of  which  the  explana* 
tion  is  sought,  appears  when  we  desire  to  recollect — and  for  a  con- 
siderable time  try  in  vain  to  recollect — some  phrase,  occurrence^ 
name,  or  quotation ;  and  some  time  after  we  have  given  up  tlie 
attempt  in  despair,  the  long-lost  idea  comes  all  at  once  into  our 
minds,  ^  a  prepaid  parcel  laid  at  the  door  of  consciousness,  Vtk^ 
a   foundling  in  a  basket,' — to  use  the  very  happy  expression 
of  Mr.  Wendell   Holmes.     Dr.  Carpenter  notes  the   two  ina* 
portant  facts,  that  the  missing  idea  generally  flashes  into  our 
minds  either  after  profound  sleep,  or  when  the  mind  has  been 
engrossed  by  some  entirely  different  subject.     The  first  of  these, 
perhaps,  led  the  late  Sir  Henry  Holland  to  regard  the  phe- 
nomenon as  due  simply  to  the   refreshment  which  the  mind 
receives  after  abandoning  its  vain  efforts ;  a  change  of  occups- 
tion  being  in  itself  a  restorative  of  mental  vigour.     Miss  Cobbc 
has,  in  a  paper  in  *  M acmillan's  Magazine'  for  November,  1870, 
illustrated  this  subject  in  her  habitual  lively  manner. 

But  mental  processes  of  a  far  more  elaborate  character  than 
any  (whatever  they  may  be)  which  result  only  in  the  recol- 
lection of  a  forgotten  quotation,  seem  to  be  carried  on  without 
:  affecting  our  consciousness  in  any  way. 

^  It  seems  to  me,'  says  Sir  Benjamin  Brodie,*  as  if  there  were  in  tlw 
mind  a  principle  of  order,  which  operates  without  our  being  at  ^ 
time  con.scious  of  it.  It  has  often  happened  to  me  to  have  been  ocoapi^ 
.  by  a  particular  subject  of  inquiry ;  to  have  accumulated  a  stofB  of 
facts  connected  with  it ;  but  to  have  been  able  to  proceed  no  furthtf* 
Then  after  an  interval  of  time,  without  any  addition  to  my  stock  w 
knowledge,  I  have  found  the  obscurity  and  confusion  in  which  the 
subject  was  originally  enveloped  to  have  cleared  away ;  the  facts  hate 


Dr.  Carpenter**  Mental  Physiology^  99 

denied  all  to  settle  themselves  in  their  right  places,  and  their  mntoal 
ilations  to  have  become  apparent,  although  I  have  not  been  sensible 
^  having  made  any  distinct  effort  for  that  purpose.' 

Similar  experiences  are  recorded  of  distinguished  authors  and 
ientific  inventors.  Charlotte  Bronte  sometimes  remained,  for 
seks  together,  unable  to  complete  some  one  of  her  stories. 
ben,  some  morning,  on  waking  up,  the  progress  of  the  tale 
Mild  lie  clear  and  bright  in  distinct  vision  before  her.  Mr. 
ppold,  the  inventor  of  the  centrifugal  pump,  habitually  went 
bed  after  employing  the  day  in  bringing  together  the  facts 
d  principles  relating  to  the  practical  problem  be  had  in  hand, 
d  its  solution  usually  occurred  to  him  in  the  early  morning 
ter  sleep.  The  great  mathematical  discovery  of  the  method 
Quaternions  was  made  by  Sir  W.  Hamilton  suddenly,  after  a 
ag^  process  of  thought,  while  walking  with  Lady  Hamilton  to 
ablin: — 

*  To-morrow,'  says  Sir  William,  in  a  letter  to  a  friend, '  will  be  the 
leenih  birthday  of  the  Qontemions.  They  started  into  life,  or  light, 
Hsrown  on  the  16th  of  October,  1843,  as  I  came  up  to  Brougham 
ridge.  That  is  to  say,  I  then  and  there  felt  the  galvanic  oircuit  of 
lought  do9e  ;  and  the  sparks  which  fell  from  it  were  the  fundametUal 
fMo^fOfw  between  i,  j,  k ;  exactly  such  as  I  have  used  them  ever  since, 
pulled  out  on  the  spot  a  pocket-book,  which  still  exists,  and  made 
A  entry,  on  which,  at  the  very  moment^  I  felt  that  it  might  be 
orth  my  while  to  expend  the  labour  of  at  least  ten  (or  it  might 
B  fifteen)  years  to  come.  But  then  it  is  Deur  to  say  tmit  this  was 
scause  I  felt  a  prMem  to  have  been  at  that  moment  8olf>edy — ^an 
itellectnal  vxint  relieved, — ^which  had  haunted  me  for  at  least  fifteen 
ears  before.' 

The  first  form  of  the  binocular  microscope  (which  gives  the 
Beet  of  solidity  by  an  application  of  the  principle  of  combina- 
on  of  two  dissimilar  perspectives,  discovered  by  Wheatstone) 
tboured  under  the  disadvantage  of  considerable  loss  of  light  in 
roducing  the  desired  effect.  It  could  also  only  be  used  as  a 
inocular.  Mr.  Wenham  endeavoured  to  devise  a  method  by 
hich,  only  a  single  prism  being  used,  the  first  evil  might  be 
smedied,  and  by  the  withdrawal  of  the  prism  the  second  dis- 
bility  removed.  He  thought  of  this  long ;  but  could  not  hit 
pon  the  form  of  prism  which  would  satisfy  the  conditions,  and 
id  his  microscopic  studies  for  the  time  entirely  on  one  side, 
ibout  a  fortnight  afterwards,  ^  while  reading  a  stupid  novel,'  the 
nrm  of  the  prism  that  would  answer  the  purpose  flashed  into 
is  mind.  He  at  once  drew  a  diagram,  and  woiiked  out  the 
lathematical  conditions,  and  the  next  day  constructed  his 
rism,    which    answered    perfectly    well,   and    iumished    the 

H  2  type 


100  Dr.  Carpenter'*  Mental  Physiology, 

type  upon  which  all    binoculars    in    ordinary'  use  have  since 
been  constructed. 

Dr.  Carpenter  considers  that  '  Unconscious  Cerebration,'  or  as 
psychologists  would  term  it,  latent  Mental  Modification,  is  not 
confined  to  intellectual  operations,  but  extends  likewise  to  the 
sphere  of  the  Emotions.     In  this  way  he  accounts  for  the  in- 
fluence which  one  person  imperceptibly,  and  even  unconsciously, 
acquires  over  others  ;  although,  perhaps,  this  would  be  better 
described  as  the  subjection  to  the  influence  of  the  former  insen- 
sibly growing  up  in  the  latter.     The  typical  case  of  this  is,  of 
course,  that  one  which  affords  so  ample  a  field  to  novel-writers, 
where   two   persons  of  different  sexes   discover   suddenly  that 
they  cannot  live  without  each  other.     But,  of  course,  the  same 
principle  obtains  in  the  case  of  the  eminent  statesman    who 
becomes  popular  with  a  whole  nation ;      or   with   the   subtle 
divine,  who  succeeds  in  turning  scores  of  youthful  votaries  from 
the  faith  of  their  fathers ;   while  both  in  the  one  instance  and 
the  other  the  understanding  is  not  unfrequently  baffled  in  its 
endeavour  to  trace  the  steps  of  the  process  upon  any  principle  it 
can  accept.     But  the  only  sphere  of  human  action  in  which. 
observation   can    possibly   test   the    operation    of   unconscioufl 
cerebration  is,  in  our  opinion,  the  purely  intellectual  one.     The* 
infinite  complexity  of  the  factors  entering   into   almost   ever^ 
moral  act  (which   appears  as  their  composite  resultant)  defies 
scientific  analysis. 

The  hostility  to  the  doctrine  of  '  Unconscious  Cerebration,'  ts 
which  allusion  has  been  made  above,  of  course  has  its  founda^-^ 
tion  in  an  apprehension  that  the  legitimate  consequences  of  sucH 
a  theory  may  be  found  to  exclude  the  idea  of  a  self-determining 
power,  in  the  individual  man, — in  other  words,  to  make  Will  *th-« 
mere  resultant  of  the  general  (spontaneous  or  automatic)  activit^^ 
of  the  Mind,  and  dependent,  like  it,  upon  Physical  antecedentat. 
However  widely  Dr.  Carpenter  extends  the  sphere  of  automatic 
activity,  he   opposes  himself  most   uncompromisingly   to  this 
view ;  and,  in  our  judgment,  clearly  and  satisfactorily  confutes 
it  by  contrasting  the  mental  condition  of  a  rational  agent  in 
his  normal  condition  with  that  of  an  insane  person,  or  of  one 
under  the  influence  of  opium,  or  subjected  to  the  operations  of 
the  '  Electro-biologists.'    In  the  case  of  decided  insanity  the  self- 
determining  power  is  permanently  suspended ;    in  the  otheis, 
temporarily  so.     In  all,  the  mind  having  in  itself  no  power  of 
altering  the  current  of  ideas  which  pass  through  it,  remains  as  it 
were  *  possessed '  by  them.     The  individual,  while  in  this  con- 
dition, is  at  the  mercy  of  any  one  who  contrives  the  means  of 
impressing  upon  him  ah  extra  some  dominant  idea  which  sets  the 

automatic 


Dr.  Carpenter'^  Mental  Phydohgy,  101 

automatic  machinery  in  motion.       In  the   year  1850,  the  art  of 
*  flectro-Biology '  was  brought  into  fashion  by  two  Americans, 
wlio    asserted  that,  by  means  of  an  influence  only  known  to 
themselves,  they  could  subjugate  the  will  of  others,  paralyse  their 
mascles,  pervert  the  evidence  of  their  senses,  and  even  suspend 
all  consciousness  of  identity.     Their  mode  of  proceeding  was  to 
pla<:e  a  small  disk  of  zinc  and  copper  in  the  hand  of  the  subject 
of  t\xe  operation.     On  this  he  was  to  gaze  steadily,  abstracting 
W»  'thoughts  from  everything  else,  and  bending  his  whole  efforts 
to  Intensifying  the  act  of  gazing.     Mr.  Braid,  of  Manchester, 
^h^o  for  some  time  before  had  been  making  experiments  on  the 
suhjject  of  *  Induced  Reverie,'  pointed  out  that  the  zinc   and 
^pT>er  disk  (which  had  given  occasion  to  the  name  Electro- 
Biology)  was  quite  unessential  to  the  success  of  the  operation, 
^^^    that  its  place  might  be  supplied  by  any  object  whatever 
■Sfcuxing  a  fixed  gaze  ; — the  whole  secret  consisting  in  the  induc« 
^lon  of  a  state  of  reverie  by  means  of  the  steady  direction  of  the 
®J®«   to  one  point  for  a  period  of  time,  varying  according  to 
^be    susceptibility  of  the  subjects,  usually  from   five  to  twenty 
"minutes: — 

*  'phe  longer  the  steady  gaze  is  sustained,  the  more  is  the  Will  of 

^be  individual  withdrawn  from  the  direction  of  his  thoiightSy  and  con- 

^^traied  on  that  of  his  eyes,  so  that  at  last  it  seems  to  be  entirely 

r'^i^erred  to  the  latter ;  and  in  the  meantime,  the  continued  monotony 

^^  tending,  as  in  the  Induction  of  Sleep  or  of  Eeverie,  to  produce  a 

^^^^esponding  state  of  mind,  which,  like  the  body  of  a  cataleptic 

^^^JQct^  can  be  moulded  into  any  position,  and  remains  in  that  position 

^^til  gatjjected  to  pressure  from  without    When  this  state  is  complete, 

^UQ  Kind  of  the  Biologized  subject  seems  to  remain  entirely  dormant, 

^^til  roused  to  activity  by  some  suggestion  which  it  receives  through 

^6  ordinary  channels  of  sensation,  and  to  which  it  responds  as 

^tomatically  as  a  ship  obeys  the  movements  of  its  rudder ;  the  whole 

^nrse  of  the  individuaFs  thought  and  action  being  completely  under 

external  direction.     He  is,  indeed,  for   the  time  a  mere  thinking 

^ffUomaton,     His  mind  is  entirely  given  up  to  the  domination  of  any 

idea  which  may  transiently  possess  it;  and  of  that  idea  his  con- 

Teraatioin  and  actions  are  the  exponents.     He  has  no  power  of  judging 

of  the  consistency  of  his  idea  with  actual  facts,  because  he  cannot 

determinately  bring  it  into  comparison  with  them.     He  cannot  of 

liimself  turn  the  current  of  his  thoughts,  because  all  his  power  of 

self-direction  is  in  abeyance.     And  thus  he  may  be  played  on,  like  a 

musical  instrument,  by  those  around  him  ;  thinking,  feeling,  speaking, 

acting,  just  as  they  will  that  he  should  think,  feel,  speak,  or  act.     But 

this  is  not,  as  has  been  represented,  because  his  will  has  been  brought 

into  direct  subjection  to  theirs  ;  but  because,  his  will  being  in  abeyance, 

all  his  mental  operations  are  directed  by  such  suggestions  as  they 

may  impress  on  his  consciousness.' — Pp.  552,  558. 

The 


102  Dr.  Carpente/«  Mental  Physiology. 

The  weakening  of  volitional  control  is  one  of  the  most  charai 
teristic  effects  of  the  abuse  of  opium,  even  while  the  intellectoi 
powers  may  have  become  unusually  enhanced. 

'  The  opimn  eater/  says  Mr.  De  Quincey, '  loses  none  of  hifl  mon 
sensibilities  or  aspirations ;  he  wishes  and  longs,  as  earnestly  as  eve 
to  realize  what  he  believes  possible,  and  feels  to  be  exacted  by  dntj 
but  his  intellectnal  apprehension  of  what  is  possible  infinitely  ontmi 
his  power,  not  of  execution  only,  but  of  power  to  attempt.  He  li< 
mder  the  weight  of  incubus  and  nightmare :  he  lies  in  sig^t  of  a 
that  he  would  &in  perform,  just  as  a  man  forcibly  confined  to  his  b€ 
by  the  mental  languor  of  a  relaxing  disease,  who  is  compelled  i 
witness  injury  or  outrage  ofiered  to  some  object  of  his  tenderest  love  :- 
he  curses  the  spells  which  chain  him  down  from  motion : — ^he  woul 
lay  down  his  life  if  he  might  but  get  up  and  walk ;  but  he  is  powei 
less  as  an  infant,  and  cannot  even  attempt  to  rise.' 

The  effect  of  the  Hachish  (a  preparation  of  the  Indian  Hem] 
used  in  the  Levant  for  the  purposes  of  intoxication)  is  thi 
described  by  Dr.  Moreau,  a  French  physician,  who  studied  tl 
subject  with  reference  to  its  bearing  on  the  phenomena  \ 
insanity : — 

*  We  become  the  sport  of  impressions  of  the  most  opposite  kinc 
the  continuity  of  our  ideas  may  be  broken  by  the  sli^test  cans 
We  are  turned,  to  use  a  common  expression,  by  every  wind..  By 
word  or  gesture  our  thoughts  may  be  successively  directed  to  a  mult 
iude  of  afferent  subjects,  with  a  rapidity  and  a  lucidity  which  a; 
truly  marvellous.  The  mind  becomes  possessed  with  a  feeling  • 
pride,  corresponding  with  the  exaltation  of  its  faculties,  of  who 
increase  in  energy  and  power  it  becomes  conscious.  It  wUl  entire 
depend  on  the  circumstances  in  which  we  are  placed,  the  objec 
which  strike  our  eyes,  the  words  which  fieJl  on  our  ears,  whether  tl 
most  lively  sentiments  of  gaiety  or  of  sadness  shall  be  produced,  • 
passions  of  the  most  opposite  character  shall  be  excited,  sometim 
with  extraordinary  violence;  for  irritation  will  rapidly  pass  in 
lage,  dislike  into  hatred  and  desire  of  vengeance,  and  the  calmc 
affection  into  the  most  transporting  passion.  Fear  becomes  terro 
courage  is  developed  into  rashness  which  nothing  checks,  and  whii 
seems  not  to  be  conscious  of  danger.  The  most  unfounded  doubt 
suspicion  becomes  a  certainty.  The  mind  has  a  tendency  to  exagg 
rate  everything ;  and  the  slightest  impulse  carries  it  along.' 

A  well-known  case,  related  by  Dr.  Abercrombie,  of  an  offia 
who  served  in  the  Expedition  to  Louisburgh,  in  1758,  presen 
a  curious  parallel  to  the  experience  of  electro-biology  in  a  som 
ambulism  of  a  peculiar  kind.  The  ordinary  somnambulist 
generally  possessed  by  one  dominant  idea,  to  which  all  l 
actions  conform.  But  the  individual  in  question,  when  aslee 
could  be  completely  directed  by  whispering  in  his  ear,  especial 


Dr.  Carpenter'^  Mental  Physiology.  103 

if  this  was  done  by  one  with  whose  voice  he  was  familiar.  This 
pecoliaiitj  rendered  him  the  subject  of  many  practical  jokes  for 
the  amusement  of  his  brother  officers.  They  found  him  one 
day  asleep  on  a  locker  in  the  cabin,  and  made  him  believe  that 
he  had  fallen  overboard,  exhorting  him  to  swim  for  his  life. 
He  immediately  imitated  the  movements  of  a  swimmer.  Then 
thej  told  him  that  a  shark  was  upon  him,  and  that  he  must  dive 
for  his  life.  This  he  at  once  did,  with  such  force  as  to  throw 
himself  on  to  the  cabin  floor,  which,  of  course,  awakened  him. 
After  all  the  experiments,  he  had  no  recollection  of  his  dreams, 
bat  a  confused  feeling  of  oppression  and  fatigue ;  and  he  used 
to  tell  his  friends  that  he  was  sure  they  had  been  playing  some 
tricks  with  him. 

The  difference  between  these  abnormal  states  and  that  of  a 
nan  of  whom  the  ^  mens  sana  in  corpore  sano '  may  be  predic- 
ated, is  plainly  due  to  the  self-determining  power  possessed  by 
the  latter, — ^the  Will, — that  which  qualifies  Man  as  an  *ens 
agens,'  no  less  than  his  consciousness  as  the  identical  subject  of 
diverse  impressions  constitutes  him  an  *•  ens  sciens ;'   the  two 
phases  of  personality  exhibiting  themselves,  as  we  have  hinted 
above,  united  in  the  most  elementary  state  of  human  existence. 
To  know  and  to  act  comprises  the  sum  total  of  Human  Capa- 
bilities.    What  are  commonly  called  the  Laws  of  Nature  and 
the  Laws  of  Thought  are,  in  fact,   the  limiting  conditions  of 
^Jiowlcdge  and  action,  only  discoverable  by  beings  endued  with 
the  powers  of  knowing  and  acting,  and — it  should  be  kept  in 
'Dmd— discoverable  by  them  only  through  the  process  of  ex- 
^'tJuing  those  very  powers. 

It  is  now  through  the  Cerebrum,  the  portion  which,  in  Man, 

^p^l»  so  large  a  proportion  to  the  rest  of  the  brain,  that  Dr. 

7*i^)enter  supposes  the  Will  to  act  upon  the  nervous  organisa- 

^^Jl.     The  evidence  for  this  is,  so  far  as  we  are  able  to  judge, 

*^    present   scarcely  strong  enough    to  justify  more   than   the 

Pronouncing  it  a  plausible  conjecture,  supported  by  few  facts, 

thoiagh,  it  must  be  confessed,  contradicted,  so  far  as  appears, 

py    none.     Psychologically,  the  self-determining  power   shows 

^ts^lf  by    selecting   from    the    sequence    of   ideas  which  pass 

through  the  mind  those  which  appear  to  it  likely,  through  the 

P'^^c^ss  of  association,  to  lead  to  the  one  which  it  seeks;    as 

^^«n,  having  forgotten  the  name    of   some  person  which  we 

^^^iie  to -recollect,  we  recall  the  place  where  we  last  saw  him,  or 

^^  persons  in  whose  company  we  met  him.     In  thinking  out 

^^^    solution  of  a  problem,  it  is  by  an  eflfort  of  Will  that  we 

^i^centrate  the  attention  on  some  consideration  upon  which  it 

■^^ms  probable  on  a  priori  grounds  that  the  solution  depends. 

The 


104  Dr.  Carpenter'*  Mental  Physiology. 

The  mechanism  of  the  mind  trained  by  habit  does  the  rest,  som< 
times  after  many  fruitless  trials,  just  as  the  angler  casts  h 
fly  first  under  one  bank,  and  then  another,  of  the  pool  whi( 
he  is  satisfied  conceals  a  trout.  The  stream  of  associatio: 
always  active,  suggests  an  infinite  multitude  of  ideas,  of  whi( 
those  that  are  incongruous  are  dismissed  at  once,  by  '  tl 
practised  thinker  often  unconsciously,  until  at  last  the  oi 
appropriate  idea  rises  to  the  consciousness,  and  is  at  on* 
recognised.  That  this  train  of  thought  is  accompanied  by  son 
modification  or  other  of  some  portions  of  the  nervous  syste 
there  seems  no  more  reason  to  question  than  that  a  paraU 
modification  takes  pla«e  when  we  speak  or  walk.  Dr.  Cc 
penter,  looking  at  the  matter  from  its  physiological  sic 
conceives  that  the  self-determining  act  which  originates  it 
coincident  with  some  increased  supply  of  blood  to  a  portL 
of  the  blood-vessels  which  surround  the  cerebrum.  A  m& 
rialist  would  say,  if  he  adopted  the  modus  operandi^  that  t 
sense  of  self-determination  is  the  reflex  action  of  the  Cei 
brum  in  response  to  the  increased  supply  of  blood.  But, 
we  have  pointed  out,  the  existence  of  a  force  from  with, 
acting  in  correlation  with  a  force  from  without, — the  Ego  w: 
the  external  world, — is  implied  in  every  definite  human  cc 
sciousness. 

Dr.  Carpenter  has  very  fully  and  clearly  described  the  mo 
in  which  the  self-determining  power  operates,  in  conjunct! 
with  the  automatism  of  thought,  in  the  work  of  the  artist  a 
the  poet,  as  well  as  of  the  philosopher.  He  has  also  sho' 
its  operation  in  the  decision  of  practical  questions  and  1 
formation  of  moral  judgments.  We  will  not  attempt  to  foil 
him  in  these  descriptions.  They  are,  for  the  most  part, 
our  opinion,  perfectly  justified  by  facts :  but  the  great  m« 
of  his  book  is  the  elucidation  of  the  enormous  part  whicl 
species  of  mental  mechanism,  mainly  constructed  by  each 
us  from  our  own  experiences,  plays  in  every  department 
human  life ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  it  becomes  clearer, 
proportion  as  this  fact  is  more  completely  brought  out,  t 
Man,  while  using  a  wonderful  machinery,  is  not  himsel 
portion  of  it. 


Al 


(     105     ) 


Abt.  IV. — 1.  Papers  relative  to  tJie  Cape  of  Good  Ilojje,  presented 

to  Parliament^  1835-1875. 
1  History  of  the  Colony  of  tlie  Cape  of  Good  Ilope^  from  its  dis- 

cooery  to  the  year  1808.     By  A.  Wilmot,  Esq.,  and  the  Hon. 

John  CentUvres  Chase.     Cape  Town,  1869. 

SIR  GEORGE  RUSSELL  CLERK,  writing  from  Bloem- 
fontein  to  the  Duke  of  Newcastle  in  the  year  1853,  uses 
the  following  words : 

*  Your  Grace  is  no  doubt  aware  that  in  reviewing  the  former 
policy  of  the  British  Government,  one  cannot  escape  from  the 
painfol  conviction,  with  reference  to  the  interests  and  feelings  of 
the  Dutch  inhabitants  of  the  Cape  Colony,  that  the  measures 
which,  with  few  exceptions,  it  has  pursued  towards  them,  and 
the  neglect  or  disdain  with  which  it  has  habitually  regarded 
fliein,  have  engendered  a  spirit  which  leaves  them  by  no  means 
desirous  of  remaining  anywhere  under  British  dominion.'  * 

At  the  moment  when  he  was  expressing  this  remarkable 
opinion,  Sir  George  Clerk  was  himself  employed  in  carrying 
out  a  measure  against  which  the  Dutch  population  of  South 
Africa  were  protesting  with  passionate  unanimity.  The  same 
disregard  was  exhibited  six  years  ago  in  a  still  more  flagrant 
iDstance,  when  the  late  Government  were  tempted  by  the  dis- 
covery of  the  Diamond  Fields  to  reverse  the  policy  of  Earl  Grey 
*nd  the  Duke  of  Newcastle  ;  and  the  opportunity  was  chosen  of 
this  fresh  affront,  when  the  irritation  of  the  large  majority  of  its 
inhabitants  was  at  its  highest,  to  force  upon  the  Colony  a  system 
of  responsible  government. 

The  experience  of  Ireland  in  the  last  century  might  have 
shown  us  that  the  relations  between  the  mother-country  and  its 
"^pendencies  are  not  improved  when  negligence  or  oppression 
*[e  sought  to  be  atoned  for  by  the  concession  of  self-government. 
*nat  severe  lesson,  however,  seems  to  have  been  more  than 
**^wn  away.  The  prohibitive  duties  against  Irish  manufactures 
v^  repealed  before  the  establishment  of  the  Constitution  of 
^'82.  The  moment  of  the  grant  of  a  similar  Constitution  to 
^'^c  Cape  Colony  was  selected,  as  if  deliberately,  for  a  pro- 
^^ing  which  taught  our  Dutch  fellow-subjects  to  regard  us  as 
*  people  whom  neither  equity  nor  treaties  could  bind. 

*t  is  to  be  presumed  that  Great  Britain  desires  to  retain 
^pc  Cape  of  Good  Hope.  The  reasons  which  led  to  its  occupa- 
^^f^n  in  1806  have  lost  little  of  their  force.     The  Suez  Canal 

*  Sir  George  Clerk  to  the  Duke  of  Xcwcabtlc,  August  2o,  1S53.     Corre- 
spondence Klatiye  to  the  state  of  the  Orunge  Kiver  Territory.    1854. 

may 


106  English  Policy  in  South  Africa. 

may  be  closed  against  us,  and  the  Cape  may  become  again  the 
key  of  British  India.  An  enemy  in  possession  of  Simon's  Bay 
would  command  our  ocean  commerce  with  China  and  Australia; 
while  it  may  be  regarded  as  certain  that  South  Africa,'  if  left  to 
itself,  would  be  neither  able  nor  would  attempt  to  maintain  its 
independence,  and  that  the  Dutch  party  would  invite  the  pro- 
tection of  some  other  European  Power.  They  are  for  the  most 
part  a  quiet  people,  disinclined  to  political  agitation,  and 
content  to  remain  under  the  British  flag  as  long  as  they  are 
fairly  treated.  But  they  remember  that  the  country  once 
belonged  to  them  ;  that  it  was  lost  by  them  for  no  fault  of 
their  own ;  and  that  they  have  not  received  from  us  the  con- 
sideration to  which  a  population,  whose  nationality  has  been 
taken  from  them  for  political  reasons,  are  so  peculiarly  entitled. 
And  if  we  are  to  escape  grave  complications  in  the  future,  it  is 
time  for  us  to  exert  ourselves  to  recover  the  confidence  which 
our  last  and  worst  act  of  aggression  has  seriously  shaken. 

Each  colony  has  its  own  history,  by  which  its  political  cha- 
racteristics are  determined.  Events  are  large  or  small  to  us, 
as  they  affect  our  immediate  interests.  The  mother-country, 
occupied  with  great  Imperial  concerns,  forgets  the  details  of 
the  development  of  its  dependencies.  The  colonist  whom  these 
details  have  touched  more  nearly  does  not  forget.  Recollection^ 
which  have  disappeared  from  the  traditions  of  Do¥ming  Stieeti 
are  fresh  and  living  in  the  farmhouses  of  Stellenbosch  and 
Swellendam.  If  the  inhabitants  of  these  and  the  other  Dutch 
districts,  who  now  return  the  majority  of  the  Cape  Parliament, 
are  to  become  the  attached  members  of  the  British  Empire, 
which  we  still  hope  to  see  them,  we  must  try  to  look  at  their 
story  as  they  look  at  it  themselves. 

The  Peninsula  of  Table  Mountain  was  occupied  by  tbe 
Dutch  East  India  Company  in  1652.  The  history  of  tbe 
Settlement  was  the  history  of  all  settlements  of  civilised  men 
in  a  country  inhabited  by  savages.  There  were  the  usual 
alliances  with  native  chiefs,  the  usual  quarrels,  the  usual  wark 
The  Dutch  were  neither  worse  nor  better  than  other  European 
intruders  in  similar  situations.  They  gradually  extended  their 
authority  as  far  as  the  Great  Fish  River  to  the  east  of  Grahams- 
town,  the  native  races  receding  or  dying  out  before  them.  At 
the  close  of  the  last  century  the  population  consisted  of  22,000 
whites,  26,000  slaves,  and  about  15,000  Hottentots.  The 
Hottentots  were  under  a  law  of  settlement,  receiving  wages, 
but  confined  to  special  locations,  and  obliged  to  work  for  their 
livelihood.  The  slaves  were  almost  entirely  bom  and  reared 
in  the  families  of  their  owners,  being  descendants  of  Malays,  or 

of 


English  Policy  in  South  Africa.  107 

of  negroes  imported  at  an  earlier  period.  The  external  slave- 
trade  had  been  laid  under  restrictions  which  amounted  nearly  to 
prohibition.  The  value  of  a  slave  increasing  in  proportion  to 
his  capacity,  he  was  trained  generally  to  some  useful  art  or 
handicraft.  He  was  never  worked  in  gangs,  but  enjoyed  the 
pncdcal  comforts  of  a  free  domestic ;  and  the  Dutch  Govern- 
ment, though  slow  and  languid  about  it,  professed  to  hope  for 
complete  emancipation  at  no  distant  time. 

Hie  conquest  of  Holland  by  Napoleon  creating  a  sudden 
danger  that  the  Cape  might  be  seized  by  France,  the  British 
GoTemment  took  temporary  possession  of  it  in  1795  in  the 
name  and  at  the  request  of  the  Stadtholder.  The  Young 
Hollanders  in  Cape  Town  had  been  infected  by  the  revolution, 
and  had  French  sympathies.  But  the  British  were  in  over- 
powering force.  A  fleet  sent  out  by  Napoleon  to  support  them 
was  taken  in  Saldanha  Bay,  and  the  Colony  submitted  without 
farther  resistance.  At  the  Peace  of  Amiens  it  was  restored  to 
I  HoUand,  but  in  1806  the  danger  recurred.  Sir  David  Baird  was 
despatched  to  recover  possession.  He  landed  through  the  surf  at 
the  northern  point  of  Table  Bay,  and  though  the  Dutch  this 
time  made  a  brave  struggle  for  their  freedom,  they  were  defeated 
•t  Blauberg.  Cape  Town  surrendered,  and  the  Colony  became 
^ain  provisionally  a  British  possession.  The  conquest  was 
effected  the  more  easily,  perhaps,  because  the  people  expected 
duit  the  British  occupation  would  again  be  only  temporary ; 
fcw  at  the  Treaty  of  Paris,  Holland  accepted  other  territories  in 
exchange  for  her  South  African  possessions ;  and  in  1815  the 
Dotch  of  the  Cape  were  finally  informed  that  their  nationality 
^M  lost,  and  that  they  were  thenceforward  to  consider  them- 
•dres  British  subjects.  No  brave  men  submit  willingly  to  a 
^fuisfer  of  allegiance  to  which  their  own  consent  has  not  been 
^ed.  The  Dutch  colonists  regarded  the  country  as  theirs, 
^  resented  the  sacrifice  which  had  been  made  of  them.  A 
f<^  of  the  more  violent  attempted  a  rebellion,  which  was 
*vercly  repressed.  The  rest  yielded  to  necessity,  but  under  a 
*uent  protest  which  deserves  rather  to  be  respected  than  con- 
demned. 

The  Dutch  farmer  or  Boer  of  the  interior  of  the  Cape  Colony 
^J  be  described  in  a  few  words.  In  every  community  there  are 
M  exceptions ;  and  the  exceptions  being  all  that  we  hear  of  at 
5  distance,  the  South  African  Boer  has  till  lately  been  regarded 
in  England  as  little  better  than  a  savage.  We  must  learn  to 
luiow  his  fairer  side.  The  type  is  unchanging.  As  he  was  in 
1806  in  the  Colony  so  he  is  in  1876  in  the  republics  of  the 
interior.    He  is-  uncultivated.     He   is   unprogressive,   but   he 

possesses 


108  English  Policy  in  South  Africa. 

possesses  qualities  which  even  here  will  be   regarded  as  no 
without  value. 

He  is  domestic,  but  not  gregarious.      When  he  settles,  1&4 
procures  from  six  to  twenty  thousand  acres  of  undulating 
plain.     He  takes  possession  in  his  waggon,  with  his  wife 
children,  his  scanty  furniture,  his  family  Bible,  which  is  all  kii 
literature,   and  his  sheep  and  cattle.     He  selects  a  spring  oi 
water  as  the  site  for  his  home ;  ten  miles,  perhaps,  from  kii 
nearest  neighbour.     His  house  consists  of  a  central  hall,  with  a 
kitchen  behind  it,  and  three,  four,  or  five  bedrooms  opening 
4mt  of  it,  all  on  one  floor.    He  builds  kraals  for  his  cattle.     He 
fences  in  a  garden  which  he  carefully  irrigates.     And  so  rapid 
is   the   growth   in  that  soil  and  climate,  that  in  four   or  fire 
years  it  will  be  stocked  with  oranges,  lemons,  citrons,  peache% 
apricots,  figs,  apples,  pears,  and  grape-vines.     He  encloses  fiflj 
or  a  hundred  acres,  which  he  ploughs  and  sows  with  wheat  or 
Indian  com.     His  herds  and  flocks  multiply  with  little  eflbrt 
If  he  is  ambitious,  he  adds  a  few  ostriches,  whose  feathers  he 
sells  at  Port  Elizabeth.     Thus  he  lives  in  rude  abundance.    Hii 
boys  grow  up  and  marry ;  his  daughters  find  husbands,  and 
when  the  land  is  good  they  remain  at  his  side.     For  each  new 
family  a  house  is  built  a  few  gun-shots  from  the  first.     A  fev 
more  acres  are  brought  under  the  plough.     A  second  genenttioB 
is  born.     The  old  people  become  the  patriarchs  of  the  fanulf 
hamlet     The  younger  gather  round  them  at  the  evening  meti, 
which  is  preceded  by  a  long,  solemn  grace,  as  the  day's  work  in  tte 
morning  is  commenced  with  a  Psalm.     The  authority  of  age  if 
absolute.     The  old  lady  sits  in  a  chair  in  the  hall,  extendiAf 
her  hand  to  a  guest,  but  never  rising  to  receive  him.    The 
young  generation,  trained  to  obedience,  fetch  and  carry  at  her 
command : 

'  Sabellis  docta  ligouibus 

Versaro  glebos  ct  scverce 

Matris  ad  arbitrium  rccisos 

Portare  fustes.' 

The  estate  produces  almost  everything  which  the  family  coft* 
sumes.  There  is  no  haste  to  get  rich.  There  is  no  desire  oi 
change.  The  Boer  has  few  wants  but  those  which  he  can  hinaiw* 
supply,  and  he  asks  nothing  but  to  be  let  alone.  The  obedience 
which  he  expects  from  his  children  he  expects  equally  from  W 
servants.  lie  is  a  strict  Calvinist.  The  stream  of  time,  wbkl 
has  carried  most  of  us  so  far  and  fast,  has  left  him  anchored  on  th^ 
old  ground.  The  only  knowledge  which  he  values  is  contain^ 
in  his  Bible.  His  notions  of  things  in  heaven  and  things  ii 
earth  arc  very  much  what  would  have  been  found  in  Scotlaol 

in 


English  PoUci/  in  South  Africa.  109" 

in  the  days  of  tho  Covenant.  He  is  constitutionallj  republican, 
jet  of  liberty  in  the  modern  sense  be  bas  no  idea.  He  con- 
siden  work  tbe  first  duty  of  man,  and  babits  of  work  tbe  only 
fitting  education.  Native  questions  and  all  otber  questions  be 
Rguds  from  this  point  of  view.  Witbout  tenderness,  witbout 
enthusiasm,  and  witb  tbe  narrowest  intellectual  borizon,  be  bas 
a  stabbom  practicality  well  suited  for  tbe  work  wbicb  be  bas 
diosen  as  tbe  pioneer  of  African  civilisation. 

These  are  the  people  whom  we  undertook  to  govern  in  1806, 
wd  to  whose  representatives  we  have  virtually  committed  tbe 
control  of  tbe  Cape  Colony.  For  tbe  first  quarter  of  a  century 
ifier  tbe  occupation  we  interfered  little  witb  them.  Tbey 
retained  their  laws,  their  religion,  and  their  language ;  and  as 
thejr  found  themselves  unmolested,  their  impatience  witb  the 
dkange  of  rule  was  wearing  gradually  away.  In  1819  the 
British  Government  voted  50,000/.  to  carry  out  emigrants,  and 
in  the  following  year  6000  English,  Scotch  and  Irish  settlers 
were  planted  in  tbe  Eastern  Province  along  tbe  shore  of  tbe 
Indian  Ocean.  Tbe  Kafirs,  who  had  intruded  over  tbe  Fish 
RiTer,  were  driven  back  to  tbe  Keiskamma,  forty  miles  behind 
Ae  old  boundary.  The  new  colonists  were  located  in  and 
tboQt  the  neighbourhood  of  Grabamstown  as  a  barrier  against 
father  invasions,  and  the  space  intervening  between  tbe  Fish 
River  and  the  Keiskamma  was  declared  neutral. 

After  a  severe  struggle  witb  bad  seasons,  tbe  new  settlement 
began  to  thrive.  Tbe  relations  between  tbe  Boers  and  the  Eng- 
lish farmers  were  perfectly  satisfactory.  Tbe  Eastern  Province 
was  now  well  inhabited.  Strength  gave  security,  and  an  active 
trade  in  wool  began  with  England.  Tbe  first  return  of  trouble 
Was  in  1828,  when  the  law  of  settlement  was  repealed  which 
'estrained  the  Hottentots.  Perfectly  sincere  in  their  detestation 
of  oppression,  perfectly  convinced  that  what  tbey  called  freedom 
Was  essential  to  tbe  improvement  of  tbe  character  of  tbe  coloured 
'wes,  the  missionaries  represented  at  home  that  tbe  Hottentots 
were  kept  in  a  state  of  predial  bondage  which  was  no  better  than 
»lavery.  Tbey  were  released  from  restraint,  and  left  free  to  go 
where  they  pleased.  They  wandered  about  in  drunkenness  and 
wleness.  The  Colony  became  infested  witb  thieves,  and  a  severe 
^^•gnint  law  soon  became  necessary,  if  tbe  country  was  to  con- 
tinue habitable.  A  Hottentot  police  was  formed  on  tbe  Elastern 
"Wder;  and  such  of  them  as  professed  to  be  Christians  were 
collected  by  tbe  missionaries  in  a  settlement  on  tbe  Kat  River, 
^leither  of  these  remedies  answered.  Tbe  Hottentot  police  in  tbe 
«te  Kafir  wars  deserted  to  the  enemy,  taking  their  arms  along 
With  them.     The  settlement,  which  from  tbe  first  was  a  nest  of 

disaffection. 


110  English  Policy  in  South  Africa. 

disaffectiony  at  last  openly  revolted.  The  final  result  of  the 
cipation  of  the  Hottentots  from  a  condition  no  worse  than  ttmjM 
of  our  own  labourers  at  the  beginning  of  the  present  oentiBJK 
has  been  the  complete  disappearance  of  the  entire  race ;  all  ha>"« 
perished  but  a  few  hundreds,  who  may  be  found  scattered  i. 
service  in  the  various  States. 

The  Boers,  who  had  suffered  from  the  loss  of  their  Hotten^^c 
farm-servants,  found  themselves  threatened  a  year  or  two 
with  the  loss  of  their  slaves.  For  the  abolition  itself  they 
prepared ;  and  they  would  have  submitted  without  complaint  C 
any  arrangement  which  would  have  been  moderately  fair  *£ 
them.  Of  all  the  slave-owners  in  the  Empire  the  South  Africa 
Dutch  had  least  deserved  to  be  hardly  dealt  with  ;  but  the  neg-li 
gence  with  which  their  interests  were  sacrificed,  and  the  manmc 
in  which  the  Emancipation  Act  was  carried  out,  created  a  aa^m 
of  indignant  resentment. 

The  first  step  was  to  send  persons  about  the  Colony  to  hesu 
the  complaints  of  slaves  against  their  masters.     The  masten 
knew  that  they  had  not  merited  a  proceeding  which  made  every 
family  a  scene  of  confusion  and  suspicion.    Three  millions  weie 
the  value  set  upon  the  slaves  in  the  estimate  of  the  indenmitjr 
which  was  to  be  paid  for  them.     The  three  millions  were  cot 
down  to  1,200,000/.,  and  the  money  actually  granted  was  made 
payable  only  at  the  Bank  of  England.     The  Boers  petitioned 
that  they  might  receive  what  was  due  to  them  in  Treasury  dnfb 
payable  in   the   Colony ;  but   their   request,   for  some  officiti 
reason,  was  refused.     Being  foreigners,  they  had  no  friends  or 
agents  in  London,  and  they  were  obliged  to  sell  their  oertificttei 
to  contractors,  who  bought  them  up  at  from  20  to  30  per  cent 
discount     The  consequence   was   that  families   whose  estatei 
were  mortgaged  were  utterly  ruined,  while  many  wealthy  Datch 
settlers  refused,  in  silent  pride,  to  receive  the  miserable  sud 
which  was  allotted  to  them.     They  dismissed  their  slaves  with- 
out any  indemnity  at  all,  and  began  to  look  beyond  the  Northern 
Border  of  the  Colony  for  some  more  distant  home,  where  thqf 
would  be  safe  from  a  philanthropy  which  forgot  justice  in  the 
warmth  of  its  benevolence. 

The  incipient  discontent  received  a  fresh  impulse  immediatdj 
after.  The  Kafir  tribes  had  resented  their  exclusion  from  the 
strip  of  territory  between  the  Keiskamma  and  the  Fish  River. 
The  fast-increasing  herds  of  the  Border  farmers  were  a  perpetual 
temptation  to  them.  They  stole  through  the  bush  across  the 
neutral  belt,  plundered  the  exposed  stations,  and  retreated  with 
the  spoils  into  their  mountains.  Reprisals  followed.  Raids 
were  made  into  the  Kafir  territority  to  recover  the  stolen  cattle, 

and 


English  Policy  in  South  Africa.  Ill 

lod  life  on  both  sides  was  continuallj  lost.     The  missionaries 
took  the  side  of  the  natives  in  these  Quarrels.     They  had  been 
stnick  with  the  finer  points  of  the  Kanr  character,  and  were  un- 
willing to  recognise  its  darker  traits.    The  Kafirs  are  brave  and 
hoDonrable  according  to  their  light ;  but  possessing  at  that  time 
DO  personal  property  they  did  not  respect  it  in  others.    They  are 
wildly  superstitious,  and  when  their  blood  is  up  they  are  reck- 
less of  human  life  beyond  any  savages  with  whom  we  have  ever 
oome  in  contact.     Chaka,  the  chief  who  desolated  Natal  at  the 
beginning  of  the  century,  is  supposed  to  have  destroyed  nearly 
a  million  human  beings.     The  missionaries,  sanguine  and  en- 
thnsiastic,  saw  in  them  nothing  but  an  innocent  and  interesting 
nee,  whom  the  advance  of  the  white  man  threatened  with  ex- 
tennination ;  and  in  every  dispute  which  arose  they  assumed 
the  white  man  to  have  been  the  aggressor.     Thus  encouraged, 
uid  being  led  to  believe  that  the  British  Government  would  not 
rapport  the  colonists  in  the  event  of  a  war,  they  prepared,  at 
the  end  of  1834,  for  a  general  rising.*     Through  the  merchants 
who  traded  at  the  mission  stations,  they  obtained  guns   and 
powder.     And  on  the  22nd  of  December  (Midsummer-night  in 
the  Southern  hemisphere)  the  Kafirs  swarmed  across  the  frontier 
tlong  a  line  of  400  miles,  burning,  killing,  and  driving  cattle. 
No  distinction  of  race  was  made ;  but  the  Dutch  suffered  the 
most,  from  the  tenacity  with  which  they  clung  to  their  homes. 
The  fugitives  crowded  in  thousands  into  Grahamstown,  while 
the  black  flight  of  human  locusts  swept  past  it  almost  to  Port 
Elizabeth,  carrying  waste  and  ruin  along  with  them. 

Sir  Benjamin  D'Urban  was  then  Governor  and  Commander- 
in-Chiefl  He  hurried  to  the  rescue,  accompanied  by  Colonel 
Smith  (afterwards  Sir  Harry  Smith),  the  conqueror  at  Aliwal. 
The  invading  Kafirs  were  driven  back  out  of  the  Colony ; 
Hintza,  the  Chief  of  CaSraria  proper,  and  the  real  contriver  of 
the  inroad,  affected  to  desire  peace,  and  came  in  to  Colonel  Smith 
as  a  hostage. 

It  was  a  mere  ruse  to  draw  the  English  forces  into  an  ambush. 
The  treachery  was  suspected.  Hintza  was  killed  in  attempting 
to  escape,  and  after  a  short,  sharp  war,  the  Kafirs  submitted. 
Part  of  the  stolen  property  was  restored.  The  neutral  territory 
between  the  Fish  River  and  the  Keiskamma  was  taken  into  the 
Colony.  The  native  tribes,  as  far  as  the  Kei,  forty  miles 
further,  were  made  British  subjects,  and  were  placed  under 
British  magistrates.    The  murdered  settlers  could  not  be  restored 

to  life.    Three  hundred  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  property  had 

3 _ ___ 

•  Sir  Benjamin  D'Urban  to  Lorrl  Glenelg.— June  9, 1836. 

been 


112  English  Policy  in  South  Africa, 

been  destroyed  ;  but  the  promptitude  and  energy  of  Sir  Benjam 
D' Urban  gave  confidence  to  the  farmers  of  both  races.  The 
common  danger  had  tended  to  bind  them  together,  and  to  attai 
both  to  the  Government. 

The  first  Kafir  war  would  probably  have  been  the  last,  ai 
the  Colony  would  have  received  a  vigorous  lift  forward  from  tl 
spirit  which  it  had  shown,  but  that  at  this  moment  there  was 
change  of  dynasty  in  Downing  Street.  Lord  Aberdeen  left  tl 
Colonial  Office,  Lord  Glenelg  came  into  it.  It  was  a  day  < 
dreams — dreams  of  millenniums  coming  in  as  the  reward  < 
Reform  Bills ;  dreams  of  the  regeneration  of  the  human  rat 
— the  black  side  of  it  especially — by  liberty  and  love.  Loi 
Glenelg  took  into  his  councils  the  African  missionaries,  and  tl 
result  was  a  despatch  upon  the  Kafir  War,  long  forgotten  i 
England,  but  for  ever  memorable  in  South  African  history. 

Admitting  that  it  was  th^  Governor's  duty  to  resist  the  invs 
sion,  Lord  Glenelg  blamed  Sir  Benjamin  D'Urban  for  the  shai] 
ness  with  which  he  had  repressed  it.  He  stated,  as  the  opinio 
of  the  whole  Cabinet,  that  the  Kafirs  had  been  '  amply  justifies! 
in  going  to  war.  They  naturally  desired  to  recover  the  lane 
of  which  they  had  been  unjustly  despoiled,  and  *  had  a  perfe 
right  to  hazard  the  experiment  of  extorting  by  force  the  redrei 
which  they  could  not  expect  otherwise  to  obtain.'  Sir  Bet 
jamin  D'Urban  had  told  Lord  Glenelg  truly  that  the  Kafirs  wci 
a  fierce,  dangerous  race — Lord  Glenelg  declined  to  believe  i 
He  understood  rather  that  they  were  feeble  and  unwarlib 
inclined  to  peaceful  pursuits,  and  well  disposed  to  Christianit} 
Their  invasion  of  the  Colony  was  the  natural  reaction  agains 
oppression.  The  havoc  which  they  had  made  was  but  a 
imitation  of  the  outrages  which  they  had  themselves  suffered 
The  death  of  Hintza  (Lord  Glenelg  afterwards  generous! 
admitted  his  mistake)  was  a  gratuitous  murder.  The  colonist 
were  entitled  to  no  compensation  and  to  no  assistance.  Th 
newly-annexed  territory  was  to  be  instantly  evacuated,  and  th 
tribes  which  had  been  made  British  subjects  were  to  be  restore< 
to  independence.* 

The  principle  underlying  Lord  Glenelg's  judgment  wouli 
condemn  altogether  the  colonisation  by  a  civilised  people  o 
any  country  already  occupied,  however  sparsely,  by  barbarou 
tribes.  Wherever  the  white  and  coloured  races  come  in  contact 
the  laws  of  civilised  man  are  inevitably  violated  by  savages  wh< 
do  not  understand  them.  Equally  inevitably,  where  there  is  n< 
organised  police,  the  colonists  defend  themselves  and  their  pro 


•  r^rd  (ilenelg  to  Sir  Bonjamin  D'Urban.— Decemb.T  2G,  18:j5. 

pert! 


English  Policy  in  South  Africa,  113 

* 

'pertj  bj  sach  means  as  are  nearest  to  hand.  The  savage  is 
eventiudly  driven  back,  and  is  punished  by  successive  losses 
of  territory.  It  may  be  hard,  but  it  is  the  rule  of  the  world. 
There  was  no  proof  that  the  Dutch  and  English  farmers  on 
the  Hsh  River  had  been  guilty  of  any  unprovoked  excesses. 
They  had  punished  cattle  thefts,  perhaps  too  severely ;  but  a 
iiOTemment  which,  from  motives  of  economy,  had  left  them 
unprotected  by  an  adequate  police,  was  not  in  a  position  to 
smmadvert  with  such  extreme  severity  on  the  rough-and-ready 
methods  which  are  the  necessary  alternative. 

That  Lord  Glenelg  had  been  misled  as  to  the  character  of 
the  Kafirs  the  British  nation  had  soon  painfully  to  learn.     The 
Fish  River  bush  became  immediately  filled  by  the  most  daring 
of  the  tribes,  who  had  been  virtually  invited  to  repeat  their 
^iggression,  and  the  frontier  of  the  Kei  had  to  be  recovered  in 
^  few  years  at  a  cost  of  several  thousand  lives,  and  two  or  three 
millions  of  money.     Meanwhile,  it  was  the  day  of  illusions. 
Sir  Benjamin  D'Urban  refused  to  accept  his  rebuke  without  a 
fiotest.    He  was  recalled,  and  Sir  George  Napier  took  his  place. 
A  CoDunittee  of  the  House  of  Commons,  of  which  Mr.  Gladstone 
^HM  a  member,  approved  Lord  Glenelg*s  despatch,  reaffirmed 
^  the  war  had  arisen  from    systematic  forgetfulness  of  the 
principles  of  justice  on  the  part  of  the  colonists,  and  laid  down 
««  an  axiom— -of  which  it  would  be  interesting  to  know  Mr. 
Gladstone's  present  opinion — ^  that  in  all  the  British  colonies, 
whatever  might  be  the  nature  of  the  local  legislature,  the  abori- 
i^eg  must  be  withdrawn  from  its  control.     A  local  legislature, 
^   properly  constituted,   must   be    the    representative    of    the 
^pinions  of  the  people  for  whom  it  acted,  and  in  proportion  as 
^'  Was  qualified  for  its  proper  functions  it  was  unfit  for  the  duty 
^^  protecting  the  aborigines.'     The  Cape  Colonists  found  them- 
•plves  held  up  before  the  Empire  as  special  objects  of  humilia- 
^on  and  disgrace,  and  they  resented  the  treatment  which  they 
^^d  not  admit  that  they  had  deserved.     The  English  settlers 
"^xnanded  a  Commission  of  Inouiry,  which  the  Government 
f^ftucd.     The  indignation  of  the  Dutch  farmers  displayed  itself 
^^    •  more  serious  form.     Despairing  now  of  protection,  finding 
r^^mielves,  as  they  supposed,  plundered  and  insulted  by  alien 
^^'V'aders,   and  believing   that   in   their    own   way    they    could 
^•"tablish  more  wholesome  relations  with  the  native  tribes  than 
?*^^er  the  uncertain  dominion  of  Great  Britain,  which  allowed 
^^^^If  to  be  misled  by  interested  information,  they  determined 
^     «eek  a  new  home  in  the  plains  of  the  interior.     They  had 
^*^cady  made  acquaintance  with  the  chiefs  beyond  the  Orange 
*^^'ver.     They  had  ascertained  that  across  that  river  lay  a  far 
^ol.  143. — No.  285.  I  extending 


116  English  Policy  in  South  Africa. 

duced  into  the  Colony  as  soon  as  possible.     The  unfitness  of 

local  legislature  to  govern  the  natives  was  no  longer  so  evidei 

The  Colony  was  to  manage  its  own  affairs,  whether  native 

properly  colonial.     As  to  further   territory,  Liord  Grey  stati 

that  the  Government  had  no  wish  to  extend  the  dominions 

the  Crown  in  South  Africa.     Fresh  acquisitions  were  not  on 

worthless,  but  pernicious.*     Meanwhile  the  entire  frontier  wi 

on  fire.      The  losses  of  the  farmers  soon  amounted  to  half 

million.    The  colonists,  after  their  late  rebuke,  were  reluctant 

enlist  for  service.     Pottinger  reported  himself  embarrassed  I 

the  missionaries,  whom  he  found  to  ^  interfere  improperly.'     h 

began  even  to  question  whether  the  missionaries  had  effectc 

any  improvement  in  the  natives  whatsoever.     The  Kafirs  live 

in  the  same  wretched  huts,  they  ate  the  same  food,  they  loUe 

about  in  the  same  idleness  and  filth  and  nudity  as  their  ancestoi 

had  done  for  centuries.     To  the  same  effect  Sir  George  Cler 

reported  from  the  Orange  River.     '  He  had  never  heard  of  a 

instance  of  the  conversion  of  any  one  of  the  native  tribe  to  Chrii 

tianity,  and  the  British  Resident  there  had  assured  him  that  n 

case  of  the  kind  had  ever  come  to  his  knowledge.' t    The  Kafii 

were  beaten  down  at  last,  at  the  most  serious  cost  of  money  an' 

blood.     Pottinger  was  transferred  to  Madras  before  the  war  wa 

over,  and  Colonel  Smith,  now  Sir  Harry,  with  the  glories  c 

Aliwal  fresh  upon  him,  came  out  to  finish  it.     His  return  to  th 

Colony  was  understood  to  imply  a  return  also  to  the  policy  o 

Sir  Benjamin  D'Urban.     He  was  received  on  the  frontier  witl 

an  enthusiasm  which  extended,  or  seemed  to   extend,  to  th* 

Kafirs   themselves.      The   chiefs,   to   many   of  whom    he  wa 

personally  known,  came  in  and  placed  themselves  under  th 

sovereignty  of  the   Queen.      Western   Caffraria   was   declarei 

British  territory,  and  the   Kei   River  became  once   more  tk 

boundary.     The  occupation  of  Natal  having  afiirmed  the  prin 

ciple  that  the  Dutch  emigrants  had  not  been  released  from  thei 

allegiance,  the  Orange  River  settlers  desired  to  know  their  rea 

position.     They  wanted  peace ;  they  wanted  a  fixed  resolutio: 

of  some  kind  from  the  British  Government,  and  the  m^orit: 

were  ready  to  acquiesce  in  it  whatever  it  might  be.     Sir  Hair'^ 

being  universally  popular,  they  invited  him  to  visit  them  as  so(^^ 

as  he  had  settled  the  Eastern  border.    He  went.     He  was  stnu?- 

by  what  he  saw.     He  found  the  country  already  sprinkled  wifc 

pleasant  farm-houses,  surrounded  by  pleasant  gardens,  and 

^ - 

♦  Earl  Grey  to  Sir  Henry  Pottinger.— November  2, 1846. 

t  Sir  George  Clerk  to  the  Dnke  of  Newcafitle.— August  25,  1853.  Tp 
mis&ionRries  can  now  happily  give  a  better  account  cf  their  stewaraBhip.  It  ' 
iupottsible  to  speak  too  highly  of  the  vrork  done  by  Mr.  Stuart  at  Lovedaie. 

populati<^J 


English  Policy  in  South  Africa.  117 


/  ^....,.. ...... 

■       p^tioned  that  he  would  declare  the  province  British  territory. 

P        Tliree  of  the  most  powerful  chiefs  made  the  same  request ;  and 

Sir  Harry,   on   the   3rd   of  February,   1848,  proclaimed   Her 

Afajerty's  Sovereignty  over  the  country  enclosed   between  the 

Vail  River,  the  Orange  River,  and  the  Drachenberg  Mountains, 

<letailing  by  name  the  various  chiefs  who  were  made  British 

^objects. 

The  proclamation  left  undefined  the  nature  of  the  authority 
asserted  over  these  chiefs,  and  the  terms  of  it  were  dangerously 
va^ue.  A  party  among  the  settlers  were  also  dissatisfied  with 
tUe  re-assertion  of  British  supremacy  over  them,  which  they 
hoped  to  have  escaped.  But  the  measure  was  popular  with  the 
liotch  at  Cape  Town,  and  Sir  Harry  flattered  himself  that  he 
Wd  given  general  satisfaction  by  what  he  had  done.  He  was 
disagreeably  undeceived.  He  had  no  sooner  left  the  territory, 
than  the  farmers  who  had  been  driven  back  out  of  Natal  rose 
^S^aih  in  arms.  They  escorted  the  Resident  Commissioner, 
^hom  Sir  Harry  had  left  at  Bloemfontein,  across  the  Orange 
R-iver,  dismissed  him,  and  declared  themselves  again  inde- 
pendent. Sir  Harry  hurried  back  with  such  a  force  as  he 
could  hastily  collect.  The  Boers  met  him  on  the  27th  of 
August,  at  a  place  called  Boemplatz.  In  the  engagement  which 
">llowed.  Sir  Harry  lost  more  men  than  he  ought  to  have  done, 
*n<i  he  himself  had  a  narrow  escape ;  but  the  farmers  were,  of 
*^Ur»e,  beaten.  The  determinately  irreconcilable  fled  over  the 
/  «^1  River,  under  their  leader,  Pretorius,  and  established  what 
^  How  known  as  the  South  African  Republic.  The  Sovereignty, 
fs  the  Orange  River  territory  was  now  called,  being  purged  of 
''s  most  dangerous  elements,  settled  peaceably  down  as  a  British 
P^'ovince. 

-Again  Sir  Harry  returned  to  Cape  Town,  not  to  enjoy,  as 
J^  had  hoped,  the  popularity  which  his  services  had  merited, 
"^t:  to  find  himself  in  a  political  cyclone  which  had  been 
Ji^'^^iasioned  by  fresh  imprudence  on  the  part  of  the  Colonial 

Cjrreat  Britain  had  hitherto  relieved  herself  of  her   convict 

P^^JJulation  at  the  expense  of  her  colonies.     Each  colony  as  it 

^^''^w  in  importance  resisted  the  intrusion  into  it  of  so  polluted 

^"^    element.    Australia  had  now  become  restive,  and  the  Govern- 

?^^*it  turned  Its  eyes  upon  the  Cape.     Lord  Russell  felt  his  way 

MJ      1841  with  an  offer  of  juvenile  delinquents.     In  1846  Mr. 

Gladstone  suggested  that  a  few  shiploads  of  convicts  might  be 

^^*^ployed   in    making  a  breakwater  in  Table  Bay.     On  both 

ta^se  occasions  the  opposition  was  so  universal  and  so  decided 

that 


118  English  Policy  in  South  Africa. 

that  the  proposition  was  immediately  dropped.     Liord  Gre^ 
not  profit  by  the  lesson.     The  Irish  famine  in  1847,  the 
rebellion  in  1848,  and  the  Chartist  disturbances  in  Londc 
the  same  year,  had  thrown  upon  the  hands  of  the  Govemmi 
class  of  convicts  of  whose  offences  they  took  a  lenient  i 
Thefts   committed    to    escape    starvation    implied    no    se 
crinkinality.     Of  the  Irish  and  Chartist  rebels  many  were  : 
foolish  than  guilty.     These  persons  might  be  fitly  trusted 
tickets  of  leave,  and  Lord  Grey  decided  that  the  Cape 
receive  them. 

The  people  at  Cape  Town  took  a  different  view.  So  far 
regarding  political  offenders  as  less  objectionable  than  ordi 
criminals,  they  pretended  to  have  a  peculiar  horror  of  pati 
disloyalty.  *They  regretted,'  they  said,  'that  Her  Majt 
Government  should  have  attempted  to  force  upon  the  Cole 
set  of  persons  convicted  of  offences  exceeding  in  selfishnes: 
meanness,  in  atrociousness  and  deliberate  cruelty,  any  cla 
felons  known  to  the  law.'  The  vehement  indignatic 
rebellion  expressed  by  the  Cape  Town  people  was  no  c 
highly  satisfactory,  but  Lord  Grey  considered  that  their  lo 
ought  to  show  itself  in  a  practical  form.  The  last  Kafii 
had  cost  the  British  tax-payer  more  than  a  million.  The 
Colonists,  he  said,  were  bound  to  render  a  service  in  retu 
the  mother-country.  He  requested  them  to  consider 
unless  several  colonies  would  consent  to  receive  a  mod 
number  of  convicts  the  effect  must  be  to  concentrate  all  in 
one  colony.'*  The  argument  was  more  naive  than  concli 
Lord  Grey,  perhaps,  anticipated  that  it  might  not  carry 
viction,  and,  to  prevent  further  discussion,  he  engaged 
*  Neptune,'  a  ship  of  700  tons,  placed  300  convicts  on  bos 
the  notorious  John  Mitchel  among  them — and  despatches 
to  Simon's  Bay. 

The  vanity  of  country  is  strong  in  Cape  Town.  Befon 
last  step  was  known.  Sir  Harry  had  been  besieged  with  peti 
and  remonstrances  so  vehement,  that  he  had  been  oblige 

?romise  that  the  convicts  should  not  be  forced  upon  the  Co 
l^hen  it  was  announced  that  the  *  Neptune '  was  on'  her 
Sir  Harry's  promise  went  for  nothing,  and  bankers,  mercl 
and  private  tradesmen  formed  themselves  into  an  associs 
the  members  of  which  were  pledged  to  have  no  dealings  oi 
kind  with  any  servant  of  the  Government,  civil  or  military 
the  project  was  distinctly  abandoned  by  the  authoriti< 
home.     The  contractors  were  warned  to  supply  no  more  p 


♦  Earl  Grey  to  Sir  Harry  Smith.— ^larch  19,  1849. 


English  Policy  iit  South  Africa.  119 

sions  either  to  the  garrison  or  the  fleet.  The  leading  members 
of  Cocmcil  resigned.  Others  who  were  nominated  to  fill  their 
placet  were  rattened  by  the  mob,  and  were  obliged  to  retire 
also.  The  Governor  was  informed  that  any  one  who  retained 
or  accepted  a  seat  in  the  Council  would  undoubtedly  be  starved. 
So  much  passion  was  uncalled  for  and  silly.  Nevertheless,  it 
«ndored  for  several  months,  and  was  carried  at  length  to  such 
a  point  of  absurdity  that  no  one  could  be  found  to  take  a 
contract  to  supply  the  police  with  clothes.  The  troops,  incon- 
venienced as  they  were,  behaved  with  remarkable  forbearance. 
A  single  gentleman,  with  a  large  cattle  farm,  had  the  courage  to 
continue  a  supply  of  meat  for  them.  The  remaining  dis- 
comforts they  endured. 

At  length  the  *  Neptune '  arrived.    There  was  not  the  slightest 

clanger  that  in  the  face  of  such  an  opposition  her  obnoxious 

^ight  would   be  detained  in  jthe  Colony.     The  convicts  on 

**oard  had  been  in  the  tropics,  in  a  small  vessel,  for  nearly  five 

'Months,  and  many  of  them  were  ill.     In  common  humanity  they 

®^ht  to  have  been  allowed  to  land.     But  the  sacred  soil  of 

^Qth  Afiica  was  not  to  be  polluted.    The  colonists  insisted  that 

Dot  a  man  of  them  should  set  his  foot  'on  shore,  not  even  under 

l^ard  within  the  precincts  of  the  Admiralty's  dockyard.     Sir 

"any  protested.     They  only  answered  that  the  *  Neptune '  must 

oe  sent  away.     He  said  that  he  could  not  send  her  away  till  he 

°^  received  orders  where  she  was  to  go.     This  was  nothing  to 

^Qem.     The  presence  of  the  *  Neptune '  in  the  harbour  drove 

them  wild,  and  fresh  efforts  were  made  of  a  determined  kind  to 

prevent  supplies   being   furnished   to   the   fleet.      The   whole 

Colony  was  on  fire  about  it.     Sir  Harry  might  have  overawed 

C^pe  Town.     The  irritation  was  absurd,  and  the  conduct  of  the 

Pecw)lc  unjustifiable,  but  he  felt  that  in  such  a  quarrel  violence 

<^uld  not  properly  be  used,  and  *  that  some  other  opportunity  must 

*>e  selected  of  proving  by  force,  if  unhappily  it  must  be  proved 

^y  force,  that  the  supremacy  of  the  mother-country  must  not  be 

questioned  in  her  colonies.'*   The  only  alternatives  now  open  to 

l^rf  Grey  were  either  immediate  concession  or  a  peremptory 

***ertion  of  authority.     He  still  tried  to  evade  the  dilemma. 

"e  blamed  the  colonists  ;  he  blamed  the  Governor ;  he  blamed 

T^"^  one  but  himself.     It  was  not  till  the  30th  of  November 

^hat  he  could  finally  resolve  to  yield,  and  thus  for  eight  months 

p*"  Harry  had  been  left  face  to  face  with  a  virtual  rebellion.    At 

^'^^h  orders  arrived  for  the  '  Neptune  '  to  sail.     The  agitation 

'"^Pped,    but    the    Cape    Town    population    had    learnt    the 

♦  Sir  Harry  Smith  to  Earl  Grey.— September  22, 1849.  ^ 

mischievous 


120  English  Policy  in  South  Africa. 

mischievous  lesson  that  the  British  Government  might  be  defied 
with  impunity. 

The  office  of  the  Governor  of  the  Cape  was  not  an  easj  one. 
The  political  commotion  was  no  sooner  over  than  Sir  Harry  was 
recalled  to  the  Border  by  the  outbreak  of  the  third  and  most 
severe  of  the  Kafir  wars.  It  commenced  with  a  revolt  of  thf 
2000  Hottentot  police,  and  of  the  Hottentot  Settlement  on  thi 
Kat  River.  The  Kafirs  followed,  and  then  the  Basutos,  wh< 
now,  for  the  first  time,  took  part  against  us.  Affairs  had  beer 
mismanaged  in  the  Orange  River  Sovereignty.  So  long  as  thi 
Boers  were  undisturbed,  there  had  been  no  quarrels  with  th< 
natives.  As  soon  as  a  British  Resident  was  established  ai 
Bloemfontein  he  began,  at  the  instigation  of  the  missionaries 
to  interfere  between  superior  and  inferior  chiefs,  and  fell  at  ona 
into  a  series  of  petty  quarrels.  The  Boer  farmers,  who  desirec 
only  to  be  at  peace  with  their  neighbours,  were  ordered  out  oi 
Commandos  under  British  officers.  Their  cattle  had  been  stolei 
in  return ;  they  had  retaliated  in  the  usual  way.  The  adven 
turers  under  Pretorius  beyond  the  Vaal  had  fallen  into  trouble  oi 
their  own  account,  but  the  Boers  of  the  Orange  Sovereignty  wen 
acquitted  of  blame  by  the  distinct  declaration  of  the  Commis 
sioners  who  were  sent  to  investigate.  The  precipitate  interferena 
of  Sir  Harry  Smith  had  been  the  real  cause  of  all  that  had  goni 
wrong,  and  had  added  the  formidable  Moshesh,  the  chief  of  thi 
Basutos,  to  the  list  of  enemies  who  had  now  to  be  dealt  with. 

The  Hottentots  having  joined  the  Kafirs,  Sir  Harry  wa 
obliged  to  apply  for  reinforcements  from  home.  Irritated  mor 
than  ever  at  fresh  demands  on  the  army  and  the  Treasury  fo 
the  ungrateful  and  ungracious  Cape  Colony,  Lord  Grey  an 
nounced  more  emphatically  than  ever  that  British  responsi 
bilities  must  be  contracted.  He  reminded  Sir  Harry  that  t\» 
Imperial  Government  had  no  direct  interest  in  South  Afria 
beyond  the  Table  Mountain  Peninsula.  Peace  must,  of  course 
be  restored ;  but  at  least  '  the  ultimate  abandonment  of  th« 
Orange  Sovereignty  must  be  a  settled  point  of  British  policy.** 

The  resolution  had  much  to  recommend  it.  The  resources  c 
Great  Britain  are  strained  sufficiently  without  the  addition  « 
an  indefinitely  extending  South  African  Empire.  If  the  polic 
of  leaving  the  Boers  to  themselves  to  form  a  barrier  betwee 
the  British  possessions  and  the  interior  could  have  been  coi: 
sistently  adhered  to,  it  would  have  been  the  best  which  coul 
have  been  adopted.  Lord  Grey  intended  to  adhere  to  it.  H 
told  Sir  Harry  that  '  he  would  learn  with  the  greatest  satisfa^^ 

•  Earl  Grey  to  Sir  Harry  Smith.— October  21, 1851. 

tU 


English  Policy  in  South  Africa.  121 

tion  that  he   had  been  able  to   withdraw   the    British  troops 

£rom  behind  the  Orange  River.'     '  If/  he  said,  '  you  are  enabled 

to  eflect  that  object,  you  will  distinctly  understand  that  any 

'^ars,  however  sanguinary,  which  may  afterwards  occur  between 

tike  different  tribes  and  communities  which  will  be  left  in  a  state 

of  independence  beyond  the  colonial  boundary  are  to  be  consi- 

d^ried  as  affording  no  ground  for  your  interference.'  * 

The  purpose  was  as  plain  as  words  could  make  it.     But  it 
acted  upon,  unfortunately,  only  to  be  repented  of,  and  the 
It  has  merely  been  to  increase  the  intricacies  of  the  South 
ncan  problem. 

The  war  lingered  on  the  Eastern  frontier.  Detached  engage- 
i*^«nts  led  to  slight  results,  while  the  loss  of  life  was  severe. 
X^lie  country  is  one  of  the  most  difficult  in  the  world.  From  the 
i^i^h  plateau  of  the  interior  there  is  a  sharp  descent  to  the 
Ic^^lian  Ocean,  through  ravines  and  gorges  densely  covered  with 
msc&penetrable  bush.  From  these  natural  fastnesses  the  Kafirs 
na«Mle  raids  into  the  Colony,  retreating  with  their  spoils  where 
r>^g;iilar  troops  were  unable  to  follow  them.  Lord  Grey's 
I>Bi.tience  was  overtaxed.  The  hero  of  Aliwal  was  recalled,  and 
Sii  George  Cathcart  was  sent  out  to  finish  the  war  with  fresh 
^n.<l  peremptory  instructions. 

•  Great  Britain,'  Lord  Grey  said,  *  cannot  bear  the  weight  of  these 

''''^•JB.    If  the  colonists  are  left  unsupported  to  rely  wholly  on  them- 

BolTes  for  protection  against  the  barbarians  with  whom  they  are  placed 

ixfc  immediate  contact,  they  must  be  left  also  to  the  unchecked  exercise 

<y^  those  severe  measures  of  self-defence  which  a  position  of  so  much 

^^ngor  will  natorally  dictate.   Experience  shows  that  in  such  circmn- 

stances  measures  of  self-defence  will  degenerate  into  indiscriminate 

^^f^'i^emcej  and  will  lead  to  the  gradual  extermination  of  the  less 

civdjsed  race.    To  avert  this  result,  which  has  hitherto  been  the  aim 

^  our  policy,  is  a  high  and  noble  object,  well  worthy  of  considerable 

B^crifioe  on  the  part  at  the  British  people ;  but  it  is  more  than  is 

fj^pired  of  them  by  the  duties  of  humanity  that  they  should  submit 

^  indefinite  expense.    Beyond  the  very  limited  extent  of  territory 

IJ^^ttred  for  the  security  of  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  as  a  naval  station, 

^o  British  Crown  and  nation  have  no  interest  whatever  in  maintaining 

*  Monitorial  dominion  in  South  Africa.     I  looked  with  confidence  to 

^®  establishment  of  security  by  the  civilising  effects  of  commerce 

^d  ixiissionary  enterprise.    Unfortunately,  these  sanguine  hopes  have 

^^U  disappointed ;  and  it  will  be  a  question  demanding  the  most 

'^o-Qa  consideration  whether  the  attempt  which  has  thus  failed  can  be 

^'^Wed,  or  whether  the  exercise  of  British  authority  in  South  Africa 

^  J*^  not  be  restricted  within  inuch  narrower  limits  than  heretofore  .'f 

•  Earl  Grey  to  Sir  Harry  Smith.— December  15,  1851. 
t  Earl  Grey  to  Sir  George  Cathcart.— February  2,  1852. 

We 


122  English  Policy  in  South  Africa. 

We  need  not  pursue  the  details  of  the  Kafir  war.  After 
eight  months  of  severe  fighting,  the  Kafir^  chiefs  again  sub- 
mitted. Moshesh  and  the  Basutos  only  remained  unsubdued ; 
and  against  Moshesh  Cathcart  proceeded  ^with  an  imposing 
force'  at  the  end  of  1852.  He  was  less  successful  than  be 
expected  to  be.  He  attacked  Moshesh's  stronghold  at  the 
source  of  the  Orange  River,  in  the  heart  of  the  South  African 
highlands.  He  was  not  defeated,  but  he  sufiFered  severely  in 
the  first  and  only  action  which  was  fought.  The  prudence  of 
the  chief  anticipated  a  second  experiment.  The  midnight 
after  the  battle,  Moshesh  wrote  a  letter  to  Cathcart,  saving 
the  English  Commander's  honour  by  overrating  his  success. 
*  You  have  shown  your  power,'  he  said.  *  You  have  chastised. 
Let  it  be  enough ;  and  let  me  be  no  longer  considered  the 
enemy  of  the  Queen.'  Cathcart  was  but  too  happy  to  extricate 
himself  and  his  army  on  these  ambiguous  terms.  He  was  as 
eager  as  Lord  Grey  himself  to  carry  out  the  policy  of  abandon- 
ment, which  would  prevent  the  risk  of  further  collision  with  the 
dangerous  Basutos. 

The  independence  of  the  country  beyond  the  Vaal  had  been 
already  conceded.     Commissioners,  sent  by  Sir  Harry  Smith, 
had  come  to  an  arrangement  with  Pretorius,  on  the  Sand  River, 
on  the  18th  of  January,  1852.      They  *  hiid  guaranteed  to  the 
farmers  in  the  fullest  manner  the  right  to  manage  their  own 
affairs  without    interference  from  Great  Britain.'      They 
claimed,  on  the  part  of  Great  Britain,  *  all  alliances  whatevi 
and  with  whomsoever  of  the  coloured  nations  north  of  the  Vi 
River.'     The  Convention  was  signed  by  both  parties,  approve 
by  the  Governor,  and  transmitted  to  England.     It  was  under      -a 
stood  and  expressly  stated  to  have  '  deprived  the  native  chi< 
of  a  support  on  which  they  had  long  relied.' 

Of  the  meaning  of  these  words  Cathcart  gave  an  immi 
illustration,   to   which    later   events   have    given    serious 
portance.       The   British    Government    had    a    treaty   of   oM-d 
standing     with    one     of     their     chiefs,    Andreas    Waterbo^" 
Andreas  Waterboer  dying  in  1853,  his  son,  Nicholas,  appU< 
to  have   the   treaty  renewed.      Cathcart    refused    to   do  it, 
contrary  to  his  engagement  with  the  Boers.* 

The  sovereignty  of  the  Queen   had  never  been  proclaiui^" 
in   the  country    beyond    the    V'aal,    which   could    therefore 


♦  *  A  small  neighbouring  chief  beyond  the  Vaal,  with  whom  there  snl,.,-,--  - 
tienty,  has  recently  died,  and  has  been  succeeded  by  his  son  Nicholas.    ^io^SjjJ 
AVaterboer  desires  to  renew  the  treaty.    I  have  refused,  as  it  seems  inoompat*  "^ 
with  the  convention  entered  into  with  the  Transvaal  cmi«:rants.' — Sir 


Cathcart  to  the  Duke  of  Sewcaiile.     March  15,  1853.  ^j 

abanda^^*^ 


English  Policy  in  South  Africa,  123 

abandoned  without  diflSculty.      To  retire  beyond   the  Orange 
River  out  of  a  territory  which  had  been  formally  taken  pos- 
session of  was  a  more  serious  matter.     English  subjects  had 
setded  there,  relying  on  the  protection  of  the  Crown  ;  banking- 
iiouses  had  advanced    capital ;    a   large  trade  had    sprung   up 
ifl  wool.     The  Cape  Dutch  took  alarm  when  it  was  rumoured 
that  their  kindred  in  the  Sovereignty  were  to  be  cast  off.     A 
petition,  entreating  the  Crown  to  reconsider  its  resolution,  was 
signed  by  almost  every  Dutchman   in   the  Western  Province 
of  the  Colony.      They    protested  against    'severing   a   people 
w^hom  a  wise  policy  would  rather  seek  to   unite.'     They  ex- 
pressed their  conviction,  which,  as  matters  have  been  managed, 
has   proved   perfectly   well-grounded,  'that  in  a  very  limited 
period  the  recovery  of  the  territory  would  become  a  solemn  duty, 
though  of  tremendously  increased  diflSculty.' 

It  was  to  no  purpose.     The  Duke  of  Newcastle  had  succeeded 
Lord  Grey  at  the  Colonial  Office,  but  Lord  Grey's  policy  was 
continued,    and   in  August,   1853,  Sir   George   Russell  Clerk 
arrived  at  Bloemfontein  to  form  a  second  convention  with  the 
Boers  of  the  Sovereignty.     On  the  spot  he  found  the  objection 
of  the  settlers  to  be  scarcely  less  violent  than  in  the  Colony. 
It  is  said  sometimes  that  these  countries  were  abandoned  in  order 
to  conciliate  the  Dutch.     Nothing  can  be  more  untrue.     They 
w-ere  abandoned  to  save  Downing  Street  expense  and  trouble. 
The  wishes  of  the  people  were  never  so  much  as  thought  of  as 
deserving  to  be  considered.     To  have  created  a  strong  inde- 
pendent State  as  a  barrier  between  the  Colony  and  the  interior 
^f  Africa,  to  have  attached  Natal  to  it^  and  thus  given  it  a  sea- 
ward and  means  of  self-development,  would  have  been  a  politic 
^'id  prudent  measure,  and  in  the  long  run  would  have  been 
approved  in  Cape  Town.     To  fling  off  as  worthless  castaways 
^any  thousand  industrious  and  deserving  British  subjects  against 
^heir  will  and  in  the  face  of  the  remonstrance  of  themselves  and 
^Ueir  kindred,  was  to  add  one  more  injury  and  one  more  insult 
^  the  large  list  already  existing,  and  to  miss  the  solitary  advan- 
^^ge  which  we  hoped  to  gain  of  diminishing  our  responsibilities. 
*  h.e  farmers  of  the  Sovereignty  urged  with  fairness  that  as  long 
^^    they  had  been  left  to  themselves,  their  relations  with  the 
Natives  had  been  perfectly  amicable.     British  interference  be- 
^J'^een  the  chiefs  had  made  enemies,  especially  of  the  powerful 
'^^a^utos,  and  it  was  unjust  to  leave  them  exposed  to  perils  of 
^Hich  they  were  not  themselves  the  occasion. 

Sir  Greorge  Clerk  allowed  the  justice  of  the  argument,  but  he 
^a«  obliged  to  carry  out  his  orders.  He  called  an  assembly  of 
delegates  from  the  Province,  and  informed  them  that  they  must 

be 


126  English  Policy  in  South  Africa. 

Of  the  remaining  Articles  two  only  require  notice.  The  Bo< 
undertook  to  permit  no  slavery,  or  trade  in  slaves  within  t 
Territory.  The  British  Government  undertook  that  the  Bo< 
whose  trade  must  pass  through  the  Colony  or  Natal  shov 
receive  a  remission  of  import  duties.  The  second  of  these  t\ 
engagements  has  never  been  fulfilled.  The  duties  levied  • 
goods  imported  for  the  Orange  Free  State  have  continued  to 
paid  into  the  Colonial  exchequer,  and  no  account  has  be 
rendered  of  them.  By  the  first  the  British  Government  1 
remained  saddled  with  the  very  responsibilities  which  it  w 
most  anxious  to  avoid.  The  right  of  interference  implied 
the  stipulation  has  been  the  occasion  of  perpetual  bickering  m 
bad  blood  ;  persons  who  dislike  the  Boers,-  and  disapprove  thi 
system  of  native  management,  having  ever  since  besieged  t 
Colonial  Office  with  passionate  denunciations  of  them,  in  whi 
truth  and  falsehood  can  with  difficulty  be  separated.  The  Boi 
are  a  hundred  years  behind  us  in  what  is  called  civilisatic 
Their  apprentice  laws  and  their  vagrant  laws  are  like  the 
which  prevailed  in  England  under  the  Commonwealth,  ai 
compulsory  apprenticeship  and  forced  labour  as  a  penalty  i 
vagrancy  appear  to  many  good  people  to  be  identical  with  slavei 
During  the  British  occupation  there  had  been  frequent  troul 
with  the  natives.  Men  had  been  killed,  and  their  women  ai 
children,  to  save  them  from  starvation,  had  been  distributed 
servants  among  the  farmers.  It  was  a  practice  which  might 
humane  or  wantonly  cruel,  according  to  the  circumstances.  ( 
the  frontier  of  the  Transvaal,  where  miscellaneous  ruffians  of ; 
nations  had  collected,  an  infamous  trade  sprang  up  in  nati 
children — black  ivory,  as  they  were  called — who  were  carri 
into  the  Dutch  settlement  and  disposed  of  for  money  as  appre 
tices.  The  Orange  Free  State  soon  put  a  stop  to  these  villanii 
They  lingered  longer  in  the  Transvaal ;  but  at  length  w< 
suppressed  there  also.  Every  instance,  however,  was  made  t 
worst  of  by  persons  who  wished  to  force  the  British  Govei 
ment  to  resume  its  half-abandoned  duty  of  protecting  the  nati 
population. 

England  was  taught  to  believe  that  the  Boers  were  little  betl 
than  wild  beasts,  and  the  independence  which  had  been  co 
ceded  was  so  far  encroached  upon  that  the  Free  States  were  f( 
bidden  to  communicate  with  the  Home  Government,  cxce 
through  the  Governor  of  the  Cape. 

This  ambiguous  position  was  so  painful  to  them,  that  in  18* 
the  Volksraad  of  the  Orange  Territory  petitioned  to  be  tak 
back  under  the  British  flag,  and  Sir  George  Grey,  then  Govern 
of  the  Cape,  advised  strongly  that  their  prayer  should  be  coi 

pU 


English  PoKcy  in  South  Africa,  127 

plied  with.  The  British  Government  preferred  to  leave  them 
withoat  the  protection  which,  as  British  subjects,  they  could 
have  claimed,  but  without  also  that  perfect  freedom  which  they 
had  been  promised,  and  which  alone  would  have  enabled  them 
satisfactorily  to  protect  themselves. 

Meanwhile  a  Constitution  had  been  conceded  to  the  Colony, 
and  a  representative  legislature  met  at  Cape  Town  in  1854. 
The  opportunity  had  been  ingeniously  taken  when  the  Dutch  in 
the  Colony  had  been  irritated  by  the  hard  treatment  of  their 
kinsmen,  and  from  the  first  the  new  system  worked  unsatis- 
iactorily.  The  inhabitants  of  the  two  Provinces  into  which  the 
Colony  is  divided  are  distinct  in  race,  in  language,  and  in 
habits.  The  Western  Province  is  Dutch  and  agricultural ;  the 
Eastern  Province  is  English  and  Scotch,  and  commercial.  The 
Western  Province  had  a  majority  in  the  Assembly ;  the  Eastern 
produced  the  largest  share  of  the  revenue.  The  Eastern  com- 
plained that  under  the  existing  Constitution  they  were  unfairly 
treated.  Two-thirds  of  the  Customs'  duties  were  raised  at  Port 
Elizabeth;  three-fifths  of  the  expenditure  was  on  the  roads 
^d  bridges  of  the  West.  So  strong  was  the  opposition,  that 
had  the  British  Government  left  them  free  to  take  their  own 
course  the  Eastern  Province  would  have  .insisted  on  separation, 
and  if  the  West  had  refused  to  let  them  go  they  would  have 
^en  possession  of  their  own  Custom  House. 

The  Colony  having  the  disposition  of  its  own  revenues,  the 
imperial  Government  naturally  desired  to  diminish  the  number 
of  its  troops,  and  to  leave  to  the  colonists  the  expense  of 
defending  themselves.  The  colonists  held  the  Imperial  Govem- 
nient  at  an  advantage  which  they  would  not  part  with. 

The  native  question  in  South  Africa  presents  more  difficulties 
^Q  in  New  Zealand  or  Australia.  The  natives  in  South 
'Africa  are  multiplying,  not  diminishing.  Behind  lies  the  in- 
^haustible  reserve  of  the  tribes  of  the  enormous  continent.  To 
leave  the  colonists  to  defend  themselves  alone  would  be  to 
^pt  the  natives  into  aggressions  which  could  be  successfully 
Resisted  only  by  means  which  British  opinion  would  not  tolerate 
^  the  Queen's  dominions.  In  Natal,  which  was  a  Crown 
^*ony,  and  most  dangerously  exposed,  it  was  absolutely  in- 
^^^pensable  to  keep  a  military  force.  The  Cape  Legislature 
knew,  and  still  know,  that  as  long  as  we  keep  a  regiment  at 
^ape  Town  to  protect  the  naval  station,  and  another  regpjnent 
^  Natal,  we  shall  be  compelled,  whether  we  like  it  or  not,  to 
•baie  the  burden  of  the  defence  of  the  frontier,  and  that  on  us, 
^^  not  on  them,  will  fall  the  weight  of  a  serious  war,  should 
■^cb  a  misfortune  occur,    fb^y  were  unwilling,  therefore,  to  tax 

themselves 


128  English  Policy  in  South  Africa. 

themselves  unnecessarily,  and  were  content  to  enjoy  the  advai 
tage  of  representative  Government  while  they  escaped  its  n 
sponsibilities. 

The  situation  soon  became  intolerable.  The  happiest  soli 
tion  of  the  difficulty  would  have  been  to  have  made  a  sanitai 
station  at  the  Cape  for  the  Indian  army,  where  regiments  suffe 
ing  from  the  Indian  climate  might  be  alternately  transferred  i 
recover  themselves.  The  mere  presence  of  a  large  force  in  tl 
Colony  would  have  been  a  perfect  insurance  against  any  di 
turbance  from  the  Kafirs.  This  plan,  it  is  said,  was  om 
seriously  thought  of,  and  some  preparations  were  made ;  but 
was  soon  abandoned.  The  impatience  of  the  Colonial  Offii 
increased,  and  in  January  1867  the  Colony  was  informed  tb 
the  force  which  was  to  remain  there  was  positively  to  be  reduce 
to  three  battalions. 

Sir  Philip  Wodehouse,  then  Governor,  whose  ability  an 
experience  entitled  his  advice  to  more  weight  than  wi 
unhappily  allowed  to  it,  pointed  out  that  the  Imperial  Groven 
ment  was  doing  too  much  or  too  little.  An  adequate  fon 
must  be  maintained  in  the  Colony  or  none  at  all.  A  wes 
garrison  would  only  invite  disturbances,  and  if  danger  can 
must  be  reinforced.  The  Colony  of  course  might  be  thrown  c 
its  own  resources,  but  the  form  of  the  Constitution  must  then  I 
.changed.  A  Governor  without  troops  and  without  a  responsib 
ministry  could  not  govern  at  all.  The  Imperial  Goyemmei 
must  make  up  its  mind  as  to  what  is  wanted.  Responsib 
Government  was  a  step  towards  independence,  and  was  onl 
suited  for  countries  advancing  to  independence.  Was  Grre 
Britain  prepared  to  allow  the  Cape  to  become  independen 
and  to  accept  the  possible  consequences  of  such  a  position 
Lord  Granville,  to  whom  the  question  was  referred  when  l 
came  into  ofiice  under  Mr.  Gladstone,  was  prepared  to  face  tl 
alternative.  His  principle  was  a  simple  one.  The  Colonii 
must  bear  their  own  expenses.  If  they  considered  the  Britii 
connection  of  value  to  them  they  must  pay  for  it.  If  they  di 
not,  they  were  at  liberty  to  separate.  Whether  the  Cape  migl 
become  independent  or  were  fit  to  be  independent;  what  tl 
nature  of  the  population  might  be;  or  whether  the  Dutc 
majority  might  not  desire  to  resume  their  connection  with  tl 
Low  Countries,  Lord  Granville  does  not  seem  to  have  askc 
himself.  He  had  perhaps  forgotten  that  South  Africa  was  w 
a  colony  properly,  but  a  conquered  province.  In  what  pn 
portions  the  Dutch  and  English  stood  to  one  another  we  canni 
infer  from  his  despatches  that  he  either  knew  or  cared  to  knoi 
He  informed  Sir  Philip  Wodehouse  ^peremptorily  that  the  tnx)] 

*  WW 


English  Policy  in  South  Africa.  129 

were  to  be  withdrawn,  with  the  probable  exception  of  a  single 
regiment,  whidi  might  be  left  for  the  present  for  the  protection 
of  the  naval  station.     As  to   the  Constitution,   it  would   not 
vori[  in  its  present  state.     His  own  opinion  was  in  favour  of 
responsible  Government  whatever  might  be  its  risks.     As  the 
Colonj  was  said  by  Sir  Philip  Wodehouse  not  to  wish  for  such 
a  Government,  an  alternative  might  be  tried.     If  the  Colony 
wottld  give  the  Crown  more  power  the  Crown  would  take  it, 
^  would  continue  its  responsibilities.     The  Colony,  when  the 
^temative  was  laid  before  it,  declined  to  part  with  the  liberty 
which  it  already  possessed.     After  so  long  an  experience  of 
^  ancertainty,  the  caprice,  the  indifference  to  the  wishes  of 
the  majority  of  the  population  which  they  had  met  with  at  the 
kands  of  the  Colonial  Office,  it  was  no  wonder  that  the  Dutch 
Were  unwilling  to  return  under  its  authority.     If  further  evi- 
nce was  needed  of  the  impossibility  of  a  good  government  for 
^OQth  Africa  being  dictated  from  Downing  Street,  it  was  about 
^  be  supplied  in  the  worst  mistake  which  had  been  yet  com- 
^tted. 

It  was  equally   impossible   that   the   Imperial  Government 
^nld  continue  to  bear  the  constant  expense  and  the  indefinite 
'^Bsponsibilities  of  the  defence  of  the  Colony,  when  it  had  parted 
^th  its  control  over  its  revenues  and  its  legislation.     A  further 
development  of  the  Constitution  was  therefore,  as  Lord  Granville 
^d,  inevitable.     The  experiment  was  a  new  and  a  dangerous 
<^e.     Australia  and  New  Zealand  were  English  colonies.     In 
Canada  the  French  were  in  a  minority.      The   Cape  was   a 
Conquered  province,   in  which   the  overwhelming  majority  of 
^he  inhabitants  were   of  a   different  race  and  a  different  lan- 
guage.    The  risk  was  increased  by  the  tone  in  which  the  grant 
^  self-government  to  the  great  Colonies  was  generally  spoken 
^  by  the  Liberal  party  in  England.     It  was  assumed  that  their 
^mplete  separation  from  us  was  a  matter  of  time  merely,  and 
that  the  period  of  separation  was  rapidly  approaching.     It  was 
^  be  expected,  therefore,  that  among  the  Dutch  of  the  Cape  a 
I^*ty  would  form  itself  in  favour  of  independence.    The  distinc- 
"ons  between  the  Eastern  and  Western  Provinces,  the  inability 
0^  the  Cape  to  defend  itself  against  an  attack  from  the  sea,  and 
the  temptation  of  so  commanding  a  situation  to  any  aggressive 
foreign  power,  about  which  if  the  Dutch  and  English  quarrelled 
thia^power  might  be  invited  in  by  one  party  or  the  other,  created 
Peculiar  and  complicated  perils.     Before  so  momentous  a  step 
Wat  taken  as  the  grant  of  responsible  government,  which  could 
^J>t  afterwards  be  recalled.  Lord  Granville  ought  to  have  con- 
ttdered  whether  the  Cape  station  continued  to  be  of  real  conse- 
VoL  143. — No.  286.  K  quence 


130  English  Policy  in  South  Africa. 

qucnce  to  the  Empire ;  and  if  the  Cabinet  decided,  as  it  is  i 
to  presume  they  would  have  done,  that  the  Cape  could  un 
no  circumstances  be  allowed  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  a  ri 
power,  the  change  in  the  government  ought  to  have  h 
accompanied  with  certain  specific  stipulations. 

1.  The  station  at  Simon's  Bay  should  have  been  separa 
from  the  rest  of  the  Colony,  and  retained  exclusively  \m 
Imperial  jurisdiction.      Simon's  Bay   is  the   only  secure  i 
defensible  harbour  in  the  Colony,   and  without  it  no  forei 
power   could    be   tempted   to   meddle   with   the    Cape.      It 
supremely  valuable  to  us,  and  is  barely  large  enough  for 
purposes  to  which  it  is  now  applied.     Yet  it  is  left  under 
Colonial  authorities.    They  may  claim  it,  and  they  will  clain 
if  their  trade   increases,  as  a  commercial  port      Already 
Dutch  papers  in  the  Colony  are  arguing  that  if  England  goes 
war  the  Colonial  harbours  shall  be  neutral.     If  such  a  resoluti 
was  arrived  at  by  the  Legislature  and  adopted  by  the  Colon 
ministry,  the  most  painful  embarrassments  would  follow. 

2.  Nothing  would  be  gained  by  the  Imperial  Govemmt 
from  passing  over  the  administration  to  the  Colonists,  if  i 
garrison  of  the  naval  station  was  liable  to  be  called  on 
extremity  for  frontier  defence.  If  the  direction  of  the  nat 
policy  was  committed  to  a  legislature  which  in  1837  we  o 
sidered  unfit  to  be  trusted  with  it,  British  troops  could  in 
case  be  employed  to  maintain  such  a  native  policy.  Yet, 
matters  stand,  the  Colonial  ministry  is  aware  that  in  the  ev( 
of  any  serious  misfortune  public  opinion  in  England  will  exp 
the  garrison  to  take  part  in  the  defence.  The  British  tro< 
indisputably  will  be  sent  to  the  frontier,  and  the  responsibil 
still  clings  to  us. 

3.  When  responsible  government  was  granted  to  the  Ca 
Natal  ought  to  have  been  reattached  to  it.  The  native  quesd 
throughout  South  Africa  is  one.  The  g^eat  stronghold  of  i 
Kafirs  lies  between  Natal  and  the  Colony.  If  there  is  war 
one  side  there  will  be  war  on  the  other.  If  a  Kafir  war  brei 
out,  large  reinforcements  must  be  sent  to  Natal.  And,  as 
said  before,  the  Cape  Colony  will  never  tax  itself  to  mainti 
an  adequate  police  force  on  its  own  frontiers  so  long  as 
knows  that  it  can  count  with  certainty  on  the  presence  ol 
British  army  in  Natal. 

4.  The  Governor  of  the  Cape,  beyond  his  local  functio; 
possesses  as  High  Commissioner  an  indefinite  right  of  int 
ference  in  native  questions  beyond  the  Colonial  border.  Tl 
office  is  a  relic  of  the  policy  of  1837.  In  the  discharge  of 
the  Governor  is  independent  of  the  advice  of  his  ministers. 

t 


English  Policy  in  South  Africa.  1ST 

the  course  which  he  pursues  is  such  as  his  ministers  disapprore 
or  decline  to  support,  he  has  to  fall  back  upon  support  from 
home,  and  the  Imperial  Government  thus  remains  exposed 
to  liabilities  of  the  most  dangerous  kind.  The  High  Com- 
missioner can  lecture  the  two  Free  States,  he  can  order  inquiries 
and  demand  satisfaction  ;  yet  if  satisfaction  is  refused,  he  cannot 
move  a  Colonial  policeman  to  enforce  it.  An  authority  sa 
powerless  for  good,  so  powerful  for  mischief  ought  either  to 
have  been  abolished,  or  in  the  exercise  of  it  the  Governor 
should  have  been  directed  to  consult  his  Colonial  advisers. 

None  of  these  considerations  appear  to  have  touched  Lord 
Granville.  He  was  in  a  hurry  to  see  the  constitution  established 
and  the  troops  recalled,  and  he  did  not  care  to  anticipate  diffi- 
culties which  might  delay  a  conclusion.  Oversights  of  this 
kind,  however,  were  trivial  in  comparison  with  what  followed^ 
The  establishment  of  Lord  Grey's  representative  legislature  had 
been  accompanied  by  the  convict  affair,  and  the  exasperation  of 
the  Datch  by  the  repudiation  of  the  Orange  River  territory ;  with 
analogous  ingenuity  the  occasion  of  the  more  momentous  change 
Was  chosen  by  Mr.  Gladstone's  administration  for  the  most 
deliberate  act  of  injustice  of  which  the  Dutch  of  South  Africa 
^  jet  have  had  to  complain. 

The  annexation  of  the  Diamond  Fields  is  perhaps  tlie  most 
discreditable  incident  in  British  Colonial  history. 

We  must  return  to  the  Orange  Free  State. 

The  disputes  with  the  natives  which  we  left  behind  on  our 
departure,  formed  an  inconvenient  legacy  to  the  Boers'  Govem- 
DJcnt.  They  could  not  renew  their  friendship  with  Moshesh  ; 
*nd  in  1864  the  Free  State  and  the  Basutos  broke  into  war,. 
The  Boers  at  first  had  the  worst  of  the  conflict ;  but  they  perse- 
vered for  four  years  under  frightful  losses — one  in  five  of  their 
Ale-bodied  population  having  been  killed.  At  last  they  »con- 
QJiered,  and  were  proceeding  to  dictate  terms  of  peace,  when  the 
^vernor  of  the  Cape  stepped  in,  intercepted  their  supplies  of 
*nununition,  and  took  the  Basutos  under  British  protection.  It 
^  a  distinct  violation  of  the  Convention  of  1 854.  The  British 
yovernment  was  doing  precisely  what  it  had  bound  itself  not  to^ 
do ;  but  the  war  had  excited  feelings  in  England,  and  the  treaty 
yas  set  aside.  The  President,  Mr.  Brand,  who  has  been  lately 
J?  London,  behaved  with  creditable  moderation ;  and  Sir  Philip 

^odehouse  was  more  sensible  of  the  imprudence  of  irritating 
the  Dutch  Colonial  constituencies  than  the  irresponsible  ad- 

y^sers  of  the  English  Government.     They  met  at  Aliwal  North 

^  1869  to  arrange  the  dispute.     A  slight  extension  of  frontier 

^^  granted  to  the  Free  State  at  the  Basutos'  expense.     The 

K  2  Basutos 


132  English  Policy  in  South  Africa. 

Basutos  themselves  were  made  British  subjects,  and  the  Fj 
State  was  guaranteed  against  further  aggressions  from  the 
The  Convention  of  1854  was  then  formally  renewed.  T 
infraction  of  it  was  not  to  be  regarded  as  a  precedent ;  and  t 
British  Government  again  disclaimed  the  intention  of  inti 
fering  beyond  the  Orange  River.  Lord  Shaftesbury  and  I 
friends  complained  that  Sir  Philip  had  been  too  lenient  to  t 
Boers. 

'  Thev  fieem  to  think/  Sir  Philip  wrote  to  Lord  Granville,  *  fliAi 
as  the  GoveiMior  of  a  Dutch  population,  with  a  legislature  laigc 
pervaded  by  the  Dutch  element,  ought  to  have  pushed  matters 
extremity  with  a  Dutch  Bepublic,  inhabited  by  the  nearest  kinsm 
of  the  Uape  Colonists,  and  sown  the  seeds  of  bitter  and  lasti: 
animosity.'  * 

The  force  of  so  extremely  obvious  an  argument  was  unfort 
nately  less  apparent  to  Sir  Philip  Wodehouse's  successor. 

The  productiveness  of  South  Africa  is  marvellous  in  exte 
and  variety.  The  soil  needs  only  the  distribution  of  the  waf 
of  its  abundant  rivers  to  produce  everything  which  man  a 
desire.  If  agriculture  is  behindhand,  it  is  only  because 
many  other  avenues  to  wealth  are  open.  To  cattle,  sheep,  ai 
horse  breeding,  is  now  added  the  fabulously  lucrative  trade 
ostrich-farming.  The  grass  which  is  annually  burnt  from  < 
Natal  is  equivalent  to  the  food  of  ten  millions  of  hiunan  being 
The  mineral  wonders  are  no  less  astonishing.  Coal,  iro 
copper,  cobalt,  gold  have  been  discovered  one  after  another  i 
profuse  abundance.  Copper  ore,  rich  as  the  best  Australia 
lies  scattered  over  the  surface  of  Namaqua  Land.  Gold  reefs  ru 
from  the  Transvaal  to  the  rise  of  the  Zambesi.  Beyond  a 
this.  South  Africa  was  found,  seven  years  ago,  to  contain  moi 
diamonds  than  are  known  to  exist  in  the  rest  of  the  world  pi 
together.  The  mines  are  elliptical  holes,  with  vertical  side 
punched,  as  it  were,  through  the  level  strata  of  shale,  whic 
floors  the  interior  plateau,  and  filled  with  a  grey  clay,  i 
which  the  diamonds  are  embedded.  One  or  more  of  thei 
places  must  at  one  time  have  been  broken  through  by  the  Vm 
River,  in  the  bed  of  which  the  first  discoveries  were  madi 
Subsequently  three  of  these  holes  were  found  twenty  miles  fioi 
the  river  bank,  within  a  circle  of  two  miles  diameter,  an 
perhaps  communicating  with  each  other  underground.  Froi 
the  date  at  which  the  mines  were  opened,  two  millions  wort 
of  diamonds  can  be  traced  from  them  annually  through  th 
g^eat  houses  of  Port  Elizabeth  alone.     Half  as  many  more  muf 

»  Sir  PhUip  Wodohoufl;  .0  Lord  Grauville.— April  18, 1870. 

har 


English  Policy  in  South  Africa.  133 

haTc  been  either  secreted  by  the  natives  at  work  in  the  pits,  or 
bave  found  their  way  into  the  world's  market  through  other 
channels.  So  sudden  and  so  vast  has  been  the  consequent 
increase  of  wealth  in  the  Colony,  that  the  revenue  has  been 
trebled,  the  prices  of  oxen,  horses,  and  sheep  have  been 
qaadrapled,  and  the  cost  of  living  has  been  as  extravagant  as 
at  Ballarat  on  the  first  rush  to  the  Gold  Fields.  Unfortunately 
the  diamond  country  lies  north  of  the  Orange  River,  in  the 
territory  from  which  we  had  withdrawn,  and  where,  as  late  as 
1869,  the  very  year  of  the  discovery,  we  had  again  bound 
ourselves  not  to  interfere.  The  farm  on  which  the  mines  were 
opened  had  been  occupied  by  a  Boer,  during  the  English  occu- 
pation of  the  sovereignty.  It  was  held  under  a  title  which  had 
been  issued  by  Major  Warden,  the  British  Resident  at  Bloem- 
fontein  ;  and  the  magistrates  of  the  Free  State  Government  had 
exercised  jurisdiction  there  from  the  day  on  which  we  made 
over  the  territory  to  them.  When  the  diggings  were  opened, 
uid  a  rush  of  people  came  in,  a  regular  administration  was  set 
pp  by  the  officers  of  the  Republic,  with  a  police  and  courts  of 
jostice.  It  ought  to  have  been  obvious  that  it  mattered  little  to 
Sontb  Africa  or  to  Great  Britain  under  what  authority  the 
oiines  were  worked.  The  diamonds  would  belong  to  those 
^ho  found  them,  and  the  revenue  from  the  digging  licences 
'^ould  do  no  more  than  pay  for  the  cost  of  management. 

If,  as  was  alleged  at  the  Colonial  Office,  the  Free  State  was 
^  weak   to   control   a   large   and   disorderly  population,   the 
j^cans  of  undoing  the  error  (as  it  was  now  believed  to  have 
'^^en)  of  the  abandonment  in  1854  was  thrust  into  the  hands  of 
J^Qe  British  Government,  for  the  Volksraad  of  the  State  would 
'^^ire  petitioned  for  our  assistance.      If  order  could  be  main- 
lined, the  same  result  would  have  been  arrived  at  in  a  very  few 
T^^n  from   the   mere   influx    of   so    many   thousand    British 
•Objects. 

Sir  Philip  Wodehouse  had  most  unfortunately  left  the  Colony. 

^^neral  Hay,  the  interim  Governor  until  a  successor  should 

J^^dve,  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded  that  the  wealth  of  the 

"*-^iamond  Fields  would  fall  to  the  State  within  the  boundaries 

^  which  they  stood,  and  that  so  rich  a  prize  must  not  be  left  to 

^^  miserable  Boers  at  Bloemfontein.     It  will  be  remembered 

•^^t  at  the  time  of  the  abandonment  the  relations  between  the 

J^^tch  and  the  natives  had  been  left   undefined,    the   British 

Government  only  binding  itself  to  relinquish   all   connection 

^ith  the  natives,  and  to  leave  them  and  the  settlers  to  arrange 

^^tters  between  themselves.      Boundary  questions   had   often 

^»cn,  some  of  which  had  been  settled  by  purchase,  others  were 

still 


134  English  Policy  in  South  Africa. 

still  pending ;  and  among  the  rest  a  difference  existed  wit 
Nicholas  Waterboer,  the  Griqua  Chief  (with  whom  Cathcart  he 
refused  to  renew  a  treaty  on  the  ground  that  it  would  be  incoi 
sistent  with  the  Sand  River  Convention),  as  to  the  ownership 
the  district  in  which  the  diamonds  had  been  found.  Unqae 
tionably  the  country  had  once  been  occupied  by  the  GriquA- 
l>ut  there  were  three  Griqua  Chiefs — ^Adam  Kok,  Comeli- 
Kok,  and  Waterboer.  The  Koks,  whose  pretensions  appear^ 
to  be  the  best,  had  sold  their  rights  to  the  Free  State.  Wate 
boer  had  alleged  that  the  Koks  had  sold  what  belonged 
himself.  The  dispute  would  have  dropped  except  for  ^ 
discovery  of  the  diamonds.  The  Free  State  had  been  in  possiC 
sion  for.  a  quarter  of  a  century,  and  they  held  the  district  hy 
double  title — as  successors  to  the  British  by  whom  it  had  be^4 
occupied,  and  as  having  purchased  it  from  the  Koks,  to  px 
vent  the  possibility  of  dispute.  The  Griquas  themselves  we 
iii£xe  squatters,  whose  claims  at  best  were  of  the  most  shadov 
<lescription.  But  the  land  jobbers  of  the  frontier  saw  th^ 
opportunity,  and  a  case  was  made  out  for  General  Hay,  who  i^ 
too  ready  to  listen.  The  Colonial  Office  was  informed  that  J 
ancient  and  faithful  ally  of  the  British  Government  was  beia 
plundered  of  his  property,  and  was  appealing  to  Gre 
Britain  for  protection.  Sir  George  Clerk  had  warned  i 
twenty  years  before  of  the  real  meaning  of  these  appeals,  of  tl 
persons  with  whom  they  originated,  and  of  the  results  to  whi^ 
they  invariably  led.  The  Convention  which  had  been  renews 
but  the  year  before,  the  engagement  so  fresh  and  so  distinct,  th.* 
we  would  not  meddle  on  such  occasions,  ought  to  have  be^ 
answer  sufficient.  If  more  was  wanted,  the  imprudence  * 
again  offending  and  affronting  the  entire  Dutch  population  • 
South  Africa  might  have  furnished  an  additional  reason  for  he0 
tation.  Neither  of  these  arguments  was  present  to  the  minds  < 
Mr.  Gladstone's  Cabinet.  A  specious  case  was  laid  before  then 
The  slave-dealing  stories  were  revived.  Opportunities  of  trac 
were  put  forward,  and  the  desirableness  of  keeping  open  a  roa 
Into  the  interior,  which  otherwise  the  Boers  might  close. 

The  Colonial  Office  consulted  Sir  Philip  Wodehouse,  wt 
was  in  England.  Sir  Philip  Wodehouse  replied,  that  he  thougl 
that  the  Boers  could  not  govern  such  a  population  as  woul 
collect  at  the  Diamond  Fields.  Sooner  or  later  British  authorif 
would  have  to  be  established  there. 

^  But  for  the  present,'  he  said  (and  every  one  would  have  said  wl 
knew  the  circumstances  and  had  no  sinister  aim  of  his  own), '  /  (kit 
it  mil  he  prudent  to  leave  things  to  take  their  course.  As  long  as  H 
iocally  constituted  body  can  maintain  a  proper  control  no  inierferem 

seen 


English  Policy  in  South  Africa.  135 

tMM  ueeuaary.  Serious  disturhanees  would  render  the  intervention  of  a 
Hjfur  power  indispensable.  Probably  it  would  be  solicited  by  the  people 
OmtAes:* 


The  caution  was  not  attended  to.  The  temptation  of  gaining 
»  Kttle  temporary  applause  by  securing  to  the  British  Crown 
the  richest  diamond  mines  in  the  world  was  too  strong  for  the 
ColoQial  OflSce.  Lord  Kimberley  hesitated  for  a  time.  He 
mfonned  Sir  Henry  Barkly,  who  was  going  out  to  succeed  Sir 
Plilip  Wodehouse,  that  the  Government  had  no  wish  to  extend 
bcr  Majesty's  dominions  in  South  Africa.  Until  responsible 
S<OTemment  had  been  established  at  the  Cape,  they  would  not 
intent  to  it  under  any  circumstances.  Sir  Henry  was  ordered 
'JO  take  no  steps  to  annex  the  territory,  or  pledge  the  Govern- 
nent  to  its  annexation  without  further  instructions.!  Again, 
itree  months  later,  Sir  Henry  was  cautioned  '  not  to  be  a  party 
»  flie  annexation  of  any  territory  which  the  Cape  Colony  would 
tM  unable  to  govern  and  defend  by  its  own  individual  resources.']: 
Bat,  under  a  mistaken  impression  that  disorders  had  broken  out 
i-t  &e  Fields,  Lord  Kimberley  was  induced  first  to  sanction  the 
sending  magistrates  there  to  take  the  Government  from  the 
Pree  State  in  Waterboer's  name.  This  step  involved  the  rest, 
Buid  Lord  Kimberley  was  passing  over,  with  one  hand,  the 
control  of  the  most  important  colonial  possession  of  the  Crown 
to  its  own  people,  with  the  other  he  was  slapping  the  majority 
of  them  in  the  face.  The  Dutch  of  the  Colony  would  have  been 
Icis  angry  if  he  had  said  openly  that  the  Diamond  Fields  were  too 
valuable  for  the  Free  State  to  be  allowed  to  keep  them.  Had 
he  gone  further  and  said  that  the  independence  of  the  two  Re- 
publics was  inconsistent  with  the  welfare  of  South  Africa,  and 
fkat  they  must  return  under  the  British  flag,  he  would  have 
f^cted  a  wound  on  them,  but  there  would  have  been  no  poison 
^  it  But  the  manner  in  which  the  annexation  was  effected 
^*s  worse  than  the  matter  of  it.  First,  the  Free  State  was 
J^Used  of  slave  dealing.  The  President  challenged  investiga- 
^on,  and  the  charge  was  withdrawn.  The  Free  State  was  then 
^^^rged  with  having  robbed  an  innocent  native  chief  of  his 
^perty,  and  of  producing  forged  documents  to  justify  the  ag- 
"^^ion.  A  Court,  which  sat  last  year  at  Kimberley  to  examine 
^e  land  claims,  pronounced  that  these  documents  were  genuine, 
^d  that  Waterboer's  agent  had  perjured  himself.  It  matters 
^We,  however,  on  which  side  lay  the  justice  of  the  case ;  we 


•  Sir  Philip  Wodebouse  to  Lord  Kimberley.— October  1,  1870. 
t  Lord  Kimberley  to  Sir  Henry  Barkly. — November  17,  1870. 
X  Sir  F.  Rogers  to  Mr.  Hammond. — January  3, 1871. 

had 


136  English  Policy  in  South  Africa. 

had  bound  ourselves  not  to  interfere,  and  we  did  interfere.     \ 
professed  to  be  defending  Waterboer  against  the  Free  State.    \ 
were  no  sooner  in  possession  than  we  appropriated  nine-teik* 
of  the  country  for  ourselves,  and  gave  Waterboer  and  his  Griqi 
the  remaining  tenth.     We  repeated  the  same  process,  wora 
word,  which  Sir  George  Clerk  had  described  in  1854.     *T 
reason  alleged  for  the  extension  of  territory  has  been  to  piev< 
the  extinction  of  the  rights  of  the  natives.     The  knowledge  tl 
the  British  dominion  has  been  enlarged  proves  acceptable 
England.     The  extension  manifests  our  power,  the  motive  c 
benevolence.      After    awhile   inquiry   follows,  and   then  it 
evident  that  the  conquest  has  brought  with  it  the  extinction 
the  rights  of  the  natives,  to  protect  whom  was  the  pretext  of  tl 
extension.' 

Sir  Henry  Barkly,  meanwhile,  left  England  in  Novembe 
1870,  with  a  special  charge  to  carry  responsible  govemmei 
in  the  Colony.  The  Colony  did  not  wish  it,  being  afraid  thi 
the  withdrawal  of  the  troops  was  to  follow,  and  being  moi 
conscious  than  the  Colonial  Office  of  the  many  questions  wliic 
ought  to  be  settled  before  so  momentous  a  revolution  cool 
safely  be  carried  into  effect.  Lord  Granville,  to  carry  hi 
point  more  easily,  consented  to  leave  three  regiments  for  tfa 
present,  but  only  to  give  the .  Colony  time  to  provide  for  it 
own  defence.  Sir  Philip  Wodehouse  had  learnt  from  Lor 
Granville  that  '  it  was  the  settled  policy  of  the  British  Gorem 
mcnt  to  be  content  with  protecting  the  naval  station  at  Simon' 
Bay,  in  which  alone  they  believed  Great  Britain  to  be  direct! 
interested.'  He  thought  such  a  policy  a  mistake,  because,  i 
he  rightly  said,  it  could  not  be  acted  upon.  So  long  as  a  sin^ 
regiment  was  continued  in  the  Colony,  British  responsibilit 
would  practically  remain.  Sir  Philip  Wodehouse  therefoi 
retired,  and  another  Governor  was  sent  to  carry  out  Lor 
Granville's  views.  Lord  Kimberley,  who  succeeded  Lord  Grit 
ville  at  the  Colonial  Office,  saw  the  force  of  the  objecdoi 
but  apparently  did  not  shrink  from  the  conclusion  which  : 
suggested. 

'  Her  Majesty's  Government,'  he  wrote,  ^  Lave  not  changed  ih0i 
opinion  that  after  a  time  the  troops  must  be  reduced  to  one  reginff^ 
to  be  stationed  at  Cape  Town  or  Simon's  Bay  as  long  as  may  h 
required  for  Imperial  purposes.  They  will  leave  another  regimeid  < 
pre83nt  to  give  time  for  the  organisation  of  a  Colonial  force.  But  it  nflj 
bo  plainly  understood  that  Her  Majesty's  Government  toiU  not  motiilv 
permanently  in  the  Colony  any  troops  unless  required  for  I«p6ri« 
purposes,  and  they  reserve  the  discretion  to  remove  the  troops  statioD* 
there  at  any  time  if  the  service  requires  them  elsewhere.' 


t  i 

T 

m 


English  Policy  in  South  Africa.  137 

If  this  langQage  means,  as  it  appears  to  mean,  that  it  is  a 
matter  of  indifference  to  Great  Britain  whether  her  connection 
with  the  Cape  is  to  continue,  or  whether  we  keep  or  do  not 
keep  our  hold  upon  Simon's  Bay,  we  do  not  believe  that 
English  opinion,  would  allow  such  a  view  to  be  acted  *upon. 
The  dissolution  of  the  bond  would  be  followed  instantly  by  a 
straggle  of  races,  a  native  rising,  and  universal  confusion,  to  be 
followed  either  by  the  compelled  return  of  English  authority  or 
«         interference  from  some  other  quarter. 

On  his  arrival  at  the  Cape  in  December,  1870,  Sir  Henry 
Barkly  made  a  tour  up  the  country,  crossed  the  Orange  River, 
&nd  paid  the  Diamond  Fields  a  visit.     His  instructions  were  to 
promise  nothing  until  responsible  government  had  been  esta- 
blished.    *  It  appeared  to    him,  however,'   he  said,    *  that  the 
British  Government  had  already  gone  too  far  to  admit  of  its 
<*wiiig   to  support   the    cause  of  Waterboer.' *      The  diggers 
desired  to  be  under  the  British  flag,  and  he  went  as  near  to 
Diaking  a  positive  engagement  to  take  the  country  over  as  the 
'fitter  of  his  orders  allowed.    Lord  Kimberley  had  been  informed 
*n«t  the  annexation  would  be  popular  in  the  Colony,  and  no 
*D»picion  of  the  truth  occurred  to  him.     He  insisted  only  that 
we  Parliament  of  the  Cape  should  first  pass  an  Act  authorising 
^^  Government  to  annex  the  territory,  and  attaching  it  to  the 
^lony  when  annexed. 

p. '  It  is  not  without  reluctance,'  he  wrote  on  the  18th  of  May,  ^  that 
r^^  Majesty's  Government  consent  to  extend  the  British  Territory 
^  South  Africa ;  but  on  full  consideration  they  conclude  they  ought 
•^  ^^vise  Her  Majesty  to  accept  the  cession  offered  by  Waterboer,  if 
*°^  Cape  Parliament  will  formally  bind  itself  to  undertake  the  re- 
^*^**^bility  of  governing  the  territory  which  is  to  bo  united  to  it.' 


ime   presse<l   or  was  supposed   to   press.      The  Governor 

'^I^^esented  that  to  wait  till  the  Responsible  Government  Bill 

^^*cl  be  carried,  would  cause  needless  delay.     He  could  not 

2,.*^^^in  from  the  Legislature  a  consent  to  the  annexation  of  the 

*^lds  to  the  Colony.     But  the  Dutch  population  was,  as  usual, 

wo'^^  and  undemonstrative.     He  did   succeed,  against  the  judg- 

^^*^t  of  the  ablest  members  of  the  Assembly,  in  obtaining,  by 

^  ^^ajority  of  one,  a  consent  that  the  Fields  should  be  made 

5?^^ish  territory  under  Imperial   responsibility,  and    that    the 

^^*ony  would  assist  in  maintaining  order  there. 

On  this  doubtful  and  limited  sanction,  the  Governor  unfor- 
^^^^ately  acted.  The  President  of  the  Free  State  demanded  the 
*rt)itration  of  some  foreign  Power,  especially  on  the  meaning  of 

♦  Sir  Henry  Barkly  to  Lord  Kimbcrley.—March  8, 1871. 

the 


138  English  Policy  in  South  Africa, 

the  Convention.  Of  the  meaning  of  the  Convention,  the  Britis 
Government  claimed  to  be  the  sole  interpreter.  Foreig 
arbitration  could  not  be  heard  of.  As  the  new  State  was  coi 
terminous  both  with  the  Free  State  and  the  Transvaal,  joii 
Commissioners  might  be  appointed  to  arrange  the  boundarie 
And  Sir  Henry  Barkly,  on  the  27th  of  October,  1871,  witl 
out  further  regarding  the  claims  of  the  Free  State,  declare 
Waterboer's  territory  to  be  part  of  the  Queen's  dominion,  und< 
the  title  of  Griqua  Land  West.  The  Free  State  sent  a  remoi 
strance  to  Downing  Street,  but  their  representative  could  m 
obtain  a  formal  hearing,  and  was  relegated  to  the  Governor  < 
the  Cape;  and  on  the  21st  of  December,  the  President  an 
Volksraad,  finding  redress  so  apparently  hopeless,  published  the 
formal  protest.  Their  independence,  they  said,  had  been  force 
upon  them  against  their  will.  They  foresaw  that  they  inigl 
have  difficulties  with  the  native  tribes,  and  Great  Britain,  i 
leaving  them  to  themselves,  had  promised  that  she  would  n< 
ag^avate  those  difficulties  by  taking  part  in  any  question  whic 
might  arise.  Contrary  to  this  engagement.  Great  Britain  ha 
expelled  them  from  a  province  over  which  they  had  exercise 
jurisdiction  from  the  day  on  which  their  independence  ho 
commenced.  They  had  offered  to  submit  their  case  to  the  arbitn 
tion  of  a  friendly  Power.  Their  proposal  had  been  refuse 
They  had  been  informed  that  Great  Britain  could  not  alio 
foreign  arbitration  in  South  Africa.  They  had  been  accused  < 
slave  dealing.  They  repelled  the  charge  with  indignatio; 
They  were  accused  of  having  produced  forged  documents.  Tl 
documents  which  they  produced  they  had  found  in  the  Britis 
archives  when  the  country  was  made  over  to  them.  They  pr 
tested  against  the  injustice  with  which  they  had  been  treate 
and  in  language  now  unusual,  but  in  them  natural  and  sincei 
they  committed  their  cause  to  the  Most  High. 

Meanwhile,  the  Responsible  Government  Bill  had  been  Ic 
on  its  first  introduction  into  the  Cape  Parliament.  Mai 
persons,  favourable  to  it  in  principle,  considered  the  chan| 
premature.  The  Eastern  Province,  which  had  felt  itself  alreac 
unfairly  treated  in  the  Legislature,  feared  that  it  might  I 
overborne  completely  under  a  system  of  entire  self-govern mei 
The  Eastern  men  demanded  that  responsible  government  shou 
be  accompanied  with  federation,  and  that  the  local  administi 
tion  which  they  had  once  possessed  should  be  restored  to  then: 

The  trenchant  policy  of  Mr.  Gladstone's  Government  wou 
not  endure  delay.  On  the  reassembling  of  the  Cape  Parliame 
in  1872,  the  bill  was  again  introduced  ;  and  this  time,  by 
majority  of  one  vote  only,   it  was  carried  against  the   alm( 

unanimo 


English  Policy  in  South  Africa^  131^ 

nnanimous  resistance  of  the  English  party  and  the  Eastern 
ftorince.  By  the  side  of  the  Responsible  Government  Bill  thc^ 
draft  of  an  Act  was  published  in  the  *  Gazette,'  for  the  incor- 
poration of  Griqua  Land  West  with  the  Colony,  which  Sir  Henry 
Barkly  recommended  to  the  early  attention  of  the  two  Houses. 
He  regretted,  he  said,  that  differences  should  have  arisen  about 
it  with  the  Free  State,  and  somewhat  naively,  considering  the 
new  element  of  discord  which  he  had  himself  introduced,  he 
expressed  a  hope  that  the  acceptance  of  self-government  by  the 
Colony  might  soon  be  followed  by  a  confederation  of  all  the 
South  African  States. 

The  merits  of  the  controversy  were  by  this  time  understood  in 
the  Western  Province.  The  resentment  of  the  Dutch  was 
^wake,  and  the  Governor  was  informed  by  his  constitutional 
^visers  that  the  passing  of  any  such  measure  as  the  incorpora- 
tion of  the  Diamond  Fields  in  the  present  or  any  future 
Parliament  was  hopeless.  To  attempt  it  would  arouse  feelings 
ooth  in  Parliament  and  throughout  South  Africa  which  would 
"C  most  prejudicial  to  the  future  Government  of  the  Colony,  and 
fatal  to  any  administration  which  might  be  charged  with  it. 

Thus  by  too  eager  grasping  at  forbidden  fruit,  the  Imperial 
Government  found  itself  embarrassed  with  a  new  Crown  Colony 
'n  the  interior  of  South  Africa  ;  the  resources  of  the  Cape  Colony 
"^  been  allowed  to  slip  from  its  control,  and  a  quarrel  which 
y^  to  deepen  in  intensity  had  arisen  with  the  two  Republics. 
^^  which  the  Republics  had  the  sympathy  of  the  majority  of 
^?®  Cape   population.      The  Imperial   Government  had  sanc- 
tioned what  was  universally  regarded  in  South  Africa  as  an  act 
^f  the  grossest  injustice,  and  to  persist  or  to  retire  was  now  equally 
difficult.     With  confessed  mortification  Lord  Kimberley  sanc- 
tioned the  establishment  of  a  separate  Government  at  the  Fields 
T^^  Government  so  wasteful,  so  incapable,  and  so  unpopular, 
^^t  at  the  end  of  three  years  British  troops  had  to  be  sent  up 
prevent  rebellion  there  ;  and  that  Government  has  been  the 
^^^^a«ion  of  mischief,  social  and  political,  which  it  is  hardly 
^^^^ible  to  exaggerate.     The  limits  of  Waterboer's  claims  were 
^    Complicated  that  it  was  impossible  to  define  them.     Free 
t^t^  farmers  did  not  know  to  what  State  they  belonged,  and 
I^^Jf^inor   provisional    arbitration    became  necessary   to  fix  the 
^  ^Odaries.     But  here,  too,  endless  difficulties  arose.     A  deed 
^      Submission  was  no  sooner  drawn  than  changes  were  intro- 
1  ^^^^d  into  it,  designed  to  oblige  the  Free  State  to    acknow- 
J^S'«  what  it   had    throughout    denied.     In  the  midst  of  the 
J    ^'^'^espondence  it  was  discovered  that  the  line  originally  laid 
^**^  by  Waterboer,  and  defined  in  the  proclamation  by  which 

the 


Ii2  English  Policy  in  South  Africa. 

unpopularity  of  forcing  the  Free  States  back  under  the  Brit 
flag,  they  would  themselves  be  ready  to  step  in  and  rece 
them  under  the  shelter  of  the  Constitution.  And  the  res 
would  have  been  a  Federation  governed  by  a  Legislature 
which  the  Dutch  would  then  have  been  overwhelmingly  j 
ponderant,  and  embittered  beyond  reconciliation  against 
British  connection.  In  a  confederation,  brought  about 
injustice  to  the  Free  States,  the  younger  Dutch  party  in  fav 
of  independence  would  go  at  once  to  the  front,  and  we  she 
be  left  with  the  alternative  of  suppressing  the  Constitution, 
of  seeing  South  Africa  slide  out  of  our  hands. 

The  situation  was  an  extremely  difficult  one.  Many  thouss 
British  subjects  were  settled  at  the  Diamond  Fields,  and  agai 
their  consent  the  country  could  not  be  restored  to  the  F 
State.  Determined  to  advance  no  further  in  the  direction 
coercion,  yet  unable  to  see  what  definite  steps  it  would 
desirable  to  take,  Lord  Carnarvon  proposed  a  Conference 
Representatives  from  the  three  Colonies  and  the  two  Republ 
to  let  him  know  the  wishes  of  South  Africa  itself  as  to 
future  position  of  Griqua  Land.  The  native  question  had  b 
reopened  by  the  affair  of  Langabalele,  and  there  had  bee] 
narrow  escape  of  a  collision  between  the  Colonial  and  Impe 
Governments  about  it.  Lord  Carnarvon  invited  their  ass 
ance  at  the  same  time  in  a  general  revision  of  their  en 
method  of  native  management,  that  it  might  be  so  harmoni 
in  Natal,  the  Colony,  Griqua  Land  West,  and,  if  possil 
the  Republics,  as  to  give  no  further  occasion  for  British 
terference. 

The  manner  in  which  the  proposal  was  first  received  is  fi 
in  the  recollection  of  us  all.  An  invitation  which,  if  it  co 
lead  to  no  good,  could  at  least  do  no  harm,  and  showed  at 
rate  a  desire  to  consider  the  wishes  of  the  country,  was  rue 
and  discourteously  rejected  after  scarcely  a  day's  considerati 
Better  evidence  could  not  have  been  given  of  the  distrust  wl 
the  past  policy  of  Great  Britain  had  generated.  South  Afi 
has  not  been  accustomed  to  disinterested  action  on  the  par 
the  Colonial  Office,  and  disbelieves  in  its  sincerity.  It 
immediately  supposed  that  the  Imperial  Government,  disgui 
with  the  quarrel  with  the  Republics,  and  afraid  of  a  native  ' 
in  Natal,  was  endeavouring  under  fair  pretences  to  shuffle  ofl 
responsibilities  upon  the  Colony.  The  Colonial  Parliam 
allowed  itself  no  time  to  reflect.  One  Member  said  the  ob 
was  to  undermine  the  independence  of  the  Free  States  and  m 
the  Colony  the  instrument  in  doing  it ;  another,  that  the  tro 
were  to  be  withdrawn  ;  another,  that  in  desiring  the  advice  < 

mem 


English  Policy  in  South  Africa,  145 

member  from  the  Eastern  Province  Lord  Carnarvon  was  insi* 
diously  encouraging  revolution. 

In  this  spirit  the  Ministers  and  Parliament  took  up  a  position 
of  resistance,  and  were  unwilling  afterwards  to  admit  that  they 
had  been  too  precipitate.     The  response  from  the  people  of  the 
Colony  and   the   other   States  was  more  appreciative.      They 
asked  for  explanations ;  and  Mr.  Froudc,  who  had  gone  out  to 
represent  the  Imperial  Government  at  the  intended  Conference, 
took  upon  himself  to  give  those  explanations.     He  was  accused 
of  trespassing,  in  doing  so,  upon  official  etiquette.     He  may 
hare  felt  that  to  allow  the  gloss  which  had  been  put  upon  the 
proposal  of  a  conference  to  pass  unchallenged  would  not  only  be 
unfair  to  Lord  Carnarvon,  but  would  have  seriously  aggravated 
the  existing  difficulties.     He  may  have  thought  also  that  it  was 
indispensable  to  call  out  colonial  opinion  in  some  shape  or 
other  to  guide  Lord  Carnarvon's  action.     The  result  at  any  rate 
Was  that  the  proposal  of  the  Colonial  Office  received  a  general 
Welcome.     Addresses  of  thanks  were  forwarded  from  the  interior 
towns.     The  Dutch  of  the  Western  Province,  little  given  to  de- 
monstrative forms  of  expression,  showed  in  crowded  meetings 
their  satisfaction  that  an  English  Minister  had  at  last  remem- 
*{eied  their   existence.     The   suspicions   of  the    leading   poli- 
ticians have  since  been  removed,  and  there  is  now  every  prospect 
that  the  Colonial  Office  and  the  Cape  Parliament  will  be  able 
to  work  in  harmony.     The  dispute  with  the  Orange  Free  State 
™«  already   been   happily    arranged.      The    Diamond    Fields 
'^inain  British  territory.     The  Free  State  receives  a  compen- 
sation with  which  the  President  has  declared  himself  satisfied, 
^'^d  the  news  that  the  quarrel  is  arranged  has  given  universal 
pleasure.      Griqua   Land    West   can    now   be   annexed   to  the 
^lony,  as  Lord  Kimberley  originally  intended.     Natal,  it  is 
to  be  hoped,  may  soon  be  united  to  the  Colony  also,  if  we  give 
Assurances,  as  we  are  bound   to  do,  that  a  force  adequate  to 
'^•Untain  peace  shall  for  the  present  be  maintained  there  ;  and 
*^®    confederation  of  the   British   provinces   will   thus  be  an 
^^^^^mplished  fact. 

.     Tlie  Republics  may  be  left  to  the   natural   action    of  self- 

^terest.     We  forced  independence  upon  them  ;  we  do  not  and 

^  ought  not  to  desire  to  take  it  from  them.     The  Dutch  are  a 

?^^   people,  slow  to  form  impressions,  and  tenacious  of  them 

i**p»i   formed.      The    inhabitants   of   the    Orange   Free   State 

^^*ieved  that  they  had  been  wronged  by  England.     The' wrong 

^^    l)een  repaired ;  but  the  feeling  which  has  been  generated 

q?j^^*lot  be  expected   at  once  to  disappear.     They  are  grateful. 

*^^3^  arc  willing  to  form  a  close  alliance  with  the  Colony  with 

reciprocal 


144  English  Policy  in  South  Africa. 

reciprocal  engagements,  and  with  this  we  may  well  be  content 
till  they  themselves  desire  a  closer  union. 

The  Transvaal  presents  greater  difficulties.  When  the  coa 
ference  was  first  proposed,  the  Volksraad  was  willing  to  send 
representative  to  it.  The  French  arbitration,  which,  in  th 
interval,  has  given  Delagoa  Bay  to  the  Portuguese,  has  opene 
to  the  Transvaal  a  road  to  the  sea.  The  vast  mineral  weal*! 
discovered  within  the  provinces  drew  the  attention  of  Earo{ 
and  stirred  the  ambition  of  the  President.  Exasperated  by  tl: 
despatches  of  the  Governor  of  the  Cape,  and  with  sodc 
sympathy  in  the  Colony,  he  became  the  leader  of  the  party  wfc 
advocate  a  United  South  Africa  under  a  South  African  flag 
and  on  his  visit  to  Europe  he  obtained  encouragement  bofl 
from  Holland  and  Belgium,  and  from  Lisbon.  On  his  return 
Pretoria,  he  cither  sought  or  found  upon  his  hands  a  war  with 
powerful  native  chief,  which  has  proved  beyond  his  strength 
and  had  not  the  Governor  of  Natal  restrained  Cetewayo,  tb 
Zulu  king,  from  joining  in  the  conflict,  the  Transvaal  mn. 
either  have  been  overwhelmed,  or  must  have  thrown  itself  upc 
British  protection.  The  English*  who  are  settled  there  alr^bdl 
desire  our  interference ;  and  the  question  arises,  whether  in  B 
inflammable  an  atmosphere  as  prevails  in  South  Africa  we  cai 
permit  any  one  State  to  play  with  fire,  or  whether,  in  some  shap 
or  other,  we  must  not  interpose  our  authority.  Lord  Camarvci 
can  be  trusted  to  act  with  the  necessary  caution,  and  not  to  repee 
the  mistake  which  was  made  with  Griqua  Land.  Let  him  insiis 
before  he  commits  the  Imperial  Government  to  further  respons 
bilities,  on  receiving  the  consent  and  co-operation  of  th 
Ministers  and  people  of  the  Cape  Colony.  With  that  consec 
he  can  do  what  he  pleases.  The  Dutch  of  the  Transvaal  wi 
not  oppose  the  wishes  of  their  kindred  in  the  Western  Pre 
vinces,  or,  if  they  do,  their  dissatisfaction  will  be  of  no  conse 
quence.  Without  that  consent  he  will  find  himself  with  a. 
interior  province  as  large  as  France  upon  his  hands,  with  a  dia 
contented  population,  with  dangerous  neighbours,  with  th 
necessity  of  maintaining  an  English  garrison  there,  and  witi 
fresh  disunion  and  irritation  in  the  whole  country.  To  stees 
wisely  through  these  conflicting  dangers  may  be  a  delicate,  bv 
it  is  not  really  a  difficult  task.  The  South- African  Dutch  ana 
English  are  an  excellent  people — a  little  vain,  perhaps,  but  noi 
disposed  to  quarrel  with  Great  Britain  if  they  are  treated  witE 
consideration.  They  arc  well  aware  of  the  value  of  the  con- 
nection to  them,  and,  with  a  little  patience.  South  Africa  maj 
be  made  the  most  attached,  as  it  is  already  one  of  the  most 
%'aluable  of  all  our  colonial  possessions.     But  we  have  made 

mistakes 


English  Policy  in  South  Africa.  145 

s  enough.  Lord  Carnarvon,  we  will  hope,  has  turned 
\  and  begun  a  new  chapter. 

le  soundness  o£  his  judgment,  Lord  Carnarvon  has  given 
)le  evidence  in  the  selection  of  Sir  Bartle  Frere  as  the 
jvemor  of  the  Cape  Colony.  Sir  Henry  Barkly's  term 
I  is  fully  completed.  He  retires  with  the  satisfaction  of 
^  that  he  achieved  successfully  the  special  work  of  esta- 
\  Responsible  Government  which  he  was  sent  out  to 
lish,  and  that  the  Province  of  Griqua  Land  which  he 
I  is  now  definitively  attached  to  the  ^British  Crown,  with 
lent  of  all  the  parties  concerned.  We  have  not  concealed 
nion  that  his  conduct  of  the  dispute  with  the  Orange 
ate  was  impolitic ;  but  we  remember  that  he  found  the 
ready  made  on  his  arrival ;  that  the  evidence  on  which 
obliged  to  act  was  obscure  and  contradictory ;  and  that 
snt  to  experience  he  was  not  bound  to  expect  that  the 
inhabitants  of  the  Colony  would  make  the  cause  of  the 
ate  their  own.      Sir  Henry  Barkly,  however,  perhaps 

his  fault,  was  identified  with  a  political  faction  which 
tured  to  obstruct  Lord  Carnarvon's  change  of  policy, 
position  being  now  withdrawn,  it  is  better  in  the  interest 
LTties  that  the  Government  should  be  entrusted  to  another 
dd  in  selecting  Sir  Bartle  Frere,  Lord  Carnarvon  could 
^rmined  upon  no  one  whose  appointment  will  give 
niversal  satisfaction.  The  moment  is  a  critical  one. 
me  of  the  person  on  whom  the  choice  of  the  Colonial 
nrould  fall  has  been  looked  for  with  more  than  usual 
The  wide  experience  of  Sir  Bartle  Frere,  his  tried 
as  an  administrator,  his  high  culture  and  still  higher 
sr,  with  the  special  distinction  which  he  has  already 
in  connection  with  African  native  races,  combined  at 
o  point  to  him  as  the  fittest  person  for  the  office  if  he 
le  prevailed  upon  to  undertake  it.  The  same  instinct 
the  Cape  Colonists  of  all  parties  to  the  same  conclusion, 
'  the  last  twelve  months  a  unanimous  wish  has  been 
sd  firom  every  part  of  South  Africa  that  Sir  Bartle  Frere 
be  Sir  Henry  Barkly's  successor.     So  general  a  recogni- 

peculiar  fitness  is  signally  honourable  to  him,  and  is  a 
logury  for  the  success  of  his  Government. 


\iZ.—No.  285.  L  Abt. 


(    146    ) 

Art.  V. — 1.  Papers  and  Correspondence  relating  to  tite  -Ejw] 
ment  and  Fitting-out  of  Hue  Arctic  Expedition  of  1875 ;  inmiii 
the  Report  of  the  Admiralty  Arctic  Committee.     Presented 
both  Houses  of  Parliament,  1875. 

2.  Further  Papers^  1876. 

3.  Arctic  Expedition  of  1875-6.  Reports  of  Sir  George  Nm 
KCB.j  Captain  Stephenson^  C,B.,  and  the  Sledging  Jounc 
of  Captain  Markham^  Commander  Beaumontj  and  Command 
Aldrich, 

4.  Report  of  Captain  Allen  Young,  R.Y.S.,  Arctic  Tad 
*  Pandora^ 

5.  Arctic  Manual  and  Instructions;  suggested  by  the  Jret 
Committee  of  the  Royal  Society.     London,  1875. 

6.  Arctic  Geography  and  Ethnology.  By  the  President  an 
Council  of  tixe  Koyal  Geographical  Society.     London,  1875 

7.  Oesterreichisch'Ungarische  NordpoUExpedition  in  den  John 
1872-1874.  Von  Julius  Payer.  Wien,  1876.  {J%e  tm 
translated  iiUo  English.     London,  1876.) 

S.  Tlireshold  of  the  Unknown  Region.  By  Clements  Marl 
ham,  C.B.     London,  1876.     Fourth  edition. 

9.  Report  to  tJie  President  of  the  United  States  in  the  matter  < 
the  Disaster  to  the  United  States  Exploring  Expedition  toiom 
the  North  Pole;  accompanied  by  a  Report  of  the  ExandnatU 
of  the  Rescued  Party.  Submitted  by  the  Secretary  of  tl 
Navy,     Washington,  1873. 

^  TACK,'  said  a  seaman  to  his  comrade,  when  they  first  fell  i 
tJ  with  ice  in  one  of  M'Clintock's  Arctic  voyages,  *  you  1« 
as  pale  as  if  you  had  seen  a  ghost.'  *  I  haven  t  seen  him  yc 
answered  Jack  in  hollow  tones,  *  but  the  Captain  has.  Fnx 
what  I  heard  him  say  to  the  first  Lieutenant,  there's  a  ol 
beggar  called  Zero  a-prowling  about  the  ship.  *^  Down  to  sen 
was  the  Captain's  very  words,  and  in  my  opinion,  shipmst 
that  is  where  this  ship  is  going.' 

The  expedition  which  has  just  returned  to  England  wil 
Nares  and  Stephenson  probably  know  more  about  *  old  Zeit 
than  any  other  living  men,  for  they  have  seen  the  thermometi 
register  a  lower  temperature  for  a  longer  time  together  than  h 
ever  before  been  experienced.  They  started  on  the  29th  of  Mi 
1875,  with  orders  to  reach  the  Pole,  if  possible,  and  perfon 
certain  other  duties  which  were  duly  set  forth  for  their  gnidano 
They  returned  in  October  1876,  and  though  they  did  not  rcsc 
the  Pole,  they  achieved  many  of  the  scientific  results  that  duN 
most  able  to  judge  think  possible  or  necessary,  and,  what  if^A 
better,  have  exhibited  to  the  world  a  model  of  quiet  heroiii 

uiidc 


Geographical^  ^c,  Remits  of  (lie  Arctic  Ex])edition.       147 

under  privations  the  extreme  nature  of  which  are  by  no  means 
as  jet  generally  known.  ,  A  great  number  of  expeditions  have 
beoi  at  various  times  sent  out  for  the  purpose  of  Arctic  explo- 
ration ;  but  this  is  the  first,  the  avowed  object  of  which  was  to 
get  to  the  Pole ;  none  has  ever  been  so  well  equipped,  and,  it 
most  in  truth  be  added,  none  has  ever  broken  down  in  health  so 
completely  in  so  short  a  time. 

The  explanation  of  this  apparent  paradox  is  to  be  found  in 
the  fiightftd  nature  of  the  toil  which  they  underwent.^  It  may 
safely  be  asserted  that  in  no  former  journeys  has  the  attempt 
been  made  to  travel  for  any  distance  over  ice  so  formidable  as 
that  of  the  Polar  Ocean,  on  whose  desolate  shores  the  '  Alert ' 
passed  the  winter  of  1875.  Every  newspaper  has  given  its 
account  in^more  or  less  detail  of  the  route  taken  by  the  expedi- 
tion, and  an  amusing  paper  in  *  Fraser^s  Magazine '  for  December 
last,  written  by  the  chaplain  of  the  *  Discovery,'  has  acquainted 
OS  with  what  may  be  called  the  gossip  of  the  voyage.  We  do 
not  think  it  necessary  to  recapitualate  their  adventures.  These 
ue  to  be  found  in  the  reports  of  Sir  George  Nares  to  the 
Admiralty,  and  of  Captain  Stephenson  to  his  chief ;  and  also  in 
the  jonrntds  of  the  sledging  parties  under  Captain  Markham, 
Commander  Beaumont,  Conunander  Aldrich  and  Lieutenant 
Rawson.  Some  of  these  are  already  published,  and  the  rest, 
tf  not  formally  given  to  the  world,  are  already  well  known,  and 
^  easily  procurable. 

The  instructions  under  which  the  expedition  sailed  are  given 
at  length  in  the  *  Papers  and  Correspondence  relating  to  the 
Equipment  and  Fitting  out  of  the  Arctic  Expedition  of  1875,' 
pteiented  to  both  Houses  of  Parliament. 

It  will  be  only  possible  for  us  within  the  limits  of  space  at 
<>Qr  disposal  to  give  a  short  account  of  some  of  the  more  pro- 
ininent  geographical  and  scientific  questions  upon  which  the 
expedition  was  instructed  to  report.  ' 

We  have  often  heard  the  question  asked,  what  was  the  use  of 
deipatching  such  an  expedition,  and  we  have  even  heard  it  dis- 
puted whether  any  object  likely  to  be  attained  by  it  was  worth 
^  expenditure  of  money,  labour,  hardship,  and  perhaps  life  in- 
Tolfed  in  the  undertaking.  The  following  pages  contain  such 
^  answer  as  we  are  able  to  give  to  such  inquiries.  It  must  be 
Understood  at  the  outset  that  the  reports  before  us  deal  only, 
^  at  least  mainly,  with  the  outside  of  things.  Facts  have  been 
^massed  by  careful  observers,  but  they  have  not  yet  been  classified 
^  arranged.  All  we  can  do  is  to  deal  with  such  details  as  arc 
before  us  up  to  the  present  time.  The  deeds  actually  accom- 
pUihed  remind  us  somewhat  of  the  American  gentleman  who 

L  2  could 


148  Geoffraphtcal  and  Scientific  Results 

could  Mive  deeper  and  come  up  drier'  thaa  any  other  m 
The  expedition  has  contrived  just  to  surpass  all  pieri 
explorers  at  all  points.  The  *  Alert'  has  been  further  no 
than  any  other  vessel  in  the  world.  Captain  Markham  i 
Mr.  Parr  have  been  nearer  the  Pole  than  any  other  men.  1 
crews  have  passed  through  the  longest  period  of  darkness  wi 
out  seeing  the  sun  that  has  ever  been  faced  by  human  bein 
and  they  have  endured  the  most  intense  cold  that  has  ever  h 
registered.  All  this  is  very  satisfactory,  though  some  dii 
pointment  has  been  expressed  that  they  did  not  actually  att 
the^  Pole.  Nevertheless,  on  all  hands,  full  justice  has  b 
done  to  the  gallantry  of  officers  and  men,  and  every  one  gi' 
a  willing  tribute  of  admiration  to  the  personal  bravery  and  « 
devotion  with  which  hardships  and  privations  have  been  bor 
It  need  hardly  be  said  to  those  who  are  acquainted  with  i 
real  objects  to  be  attained  that  failure  to  reach  the  actual  F 
is  not  of  itself  a  matter  of  regret.  No  doubt  the  national  van 
would  have  been  flattered  if  the  English  flag  had  actually  wa^ 
from  a  staff  planted  over  the  axis  of  rotation  of  the  earth  ;  bin 
would  have  been  but  an  empty  boast,  and  one  for  which  * 
English  people  would  not  wish  any  officer  to  sacrifice  the  li' 
of  his  people  or  the  safety  of  his  ship. 

It  is  only  by  very  slow  degrees  and  by  continual  stei 
perseverance  that  any  reliable  lines  can  be  traced  on  the  gi 
blank  tract  which  in  Polar  charts  betrays  the  extent  of  our  igo 
ance ;  and  it  would  be  as  easy  to  fall  into  the  mistake  of  and 
valuing  the  achievements  of  our  explorers  as  to  err  in  the  op; 
site  extreme.  It  is  true  that  the  sledging  parties  of  Nares  i 
Stephenson  have  only  laid  down  a  few  miles  of  coast,  hi 
corrected,  within  a  limited  area,  some  geographical  errors  a 
mitted  by  their  predecessors,  have  exploded  at  least  one  theor 
which  some  geographers  fondly  clung,  have  confirmed  the  reii 
previously  arrived  at  by  other  observers  of  Polar  magnetic  pi 
nomena,  and  have  made  some  interesting  collections  of  Aji 
fauna  and  flora.  This  is  all.  But  it  is  as  much  as  they  co 
reasonably  be  expected  to  do.  The  extent  of  exploration  wh 
can  be  accomplished  by  a  single  expedition  can  be  but  sfl 
when  a  mile  a  day  is  the  utmost  that  the  strenuous  exertidU 
a  party  of  picked  men  can  achieve  ;  and  even  that  insignific 
result  is  gained  by  toil  so  incredibly  severe  as  to  prostrate, 
the  space  of  a  few  days'  journey,  one  party  after  another  of 
finest  men  in  our  navy  with  fatigue  and  disease. 

It  is,  indeed,  a  matter  for  inquiry  whether,  as  the  Pole 
approached,  some  climatic  influences  do  not  exist  detrimtf 
to  health  and  life  which  are  not  in  operation  in  lower  latitat 


of  the  Arctic  Expedition.  149 

lo  M'CIiire's  expedition,  more  than  three  years  occurred  before 
the  first  death  from  scurvy  took  place.  In  Kane's  expedition, 
two  men  only  died  in  two  years.  The  *  Enterprise '  was  four 
winters  out ;  the  *  Investigator/  five  ;  the  *  Assistance/  *  Reso- 
Inte,'  and  ^  North  Star/  three  each.  In  Sir  John  Ross's  expedi- 
tkni,  the  ^  Victory '  was  out  three  years,  during  which  she  was 
two  yean  beset  by  ice  in  the  Gulf  of  Boothia,  and  in  all  that 
tune  only  made  seven  miles  in  advance.  But  in  each  of  these 
instanoes  it  was  not  till  the  third  year  that  despondency  and  its 
coDoomitant,  scurvy,  attacked  them.  Most  of  these  were  govern- 
ment expeditions ;  and  in  all,  the  general  health  of  the  crews 
was  excellent.  Indeed,  Dr.  Donnet,  Deputy  Inspector-General 
of  Hospitals,  who  was  surgeon  on  board  the  *  Assistance'  in  the 
Arctic  expedition  of  1850-51,  declares  that,  of  all  the  seas  that 
are  visited  by  ships  of  the  British  Navy,  the  Arctic  is  the  most 
healthy.  In  the  face  of  these  facts,  thus  vouched  by  the  most 
reliable  authority,  we  have  the  startling  result  that  one  season 
was  sufficient  to  break  down  the  picked  crews  of  the  *  Alert ' 
and  the  *  Discovery.' 

Like  noble  fellows  as  they  are,  they  would  not  have  hesitated 
to  remain  if  any  good  purpose  could  be  served  by  doing  so ; 
bat  under  the  circumstsmces  it 'was  a  matter  of  the  commonest 
pndenoe  to  bring  them  home.  It  is  due  to  Sir  George  Nares 
to  say  that  he  had  no  option  in  the  matter.  ^  You  should  use 
jonr  best  endeavours  to  rejoin  your  consort  in  the  navigable 
reason  of  1876,  and,  in  company  with  her,  return  to  England, 
porided  the  spring  exploration  has  been  reasonably  successful.' 
Such  were  the  positive  instructions  given  to  him  by  the  Ad- 
Buialty  on  his  departure;  but  that  is  not  the  present  point. 
^  question  is  whether  the  picked  crews  of  the  Arctic  ships 
Were  physically  fit  to  remain  out  a  second  year ;  and,  in  point 
of  fiuit,  they  were  not.  It  is  true  that  they  had  a  winter  of  un- 
precedented length ;  but  neither  that,  nor  the  absence  of  certain 
precautions,  of  which  we  have  heard  a  great  deal  in  the  news- 
Papers,  are  enough  to  account  for  the  break-down  of  so  fine  a 
hody  of  men  in  so  short  a  time,  unless  we  suppose  the  climate 
to  have  been  in  some  manner,  not  as  yet  explained,  injurious  to 
health. 

But  to  our  point.  Why  should  any  Arctic  expedition  be 
^dertaken  at  all  ?  It  is  not  sufficient  to  say  that  England  has 
dways  taken  the  lead  in  maritime  adventure,  and  been  the 
pioneer  in  many  wild  lands  and  dangerous  seas.  If  that  were 
•lli^  we  might  leave  Polar  expeditions  to  private  enterprise, 
which  has  always  been  sufficient  to  spur  our  countrymen  on. 
^e  of  excitement  has  been  quite  inducement  enough  when 

danger 


150  Geographical  and  Scientific  Results 

danger  was  to  be  faced  or  honour  to  be  won ;  bat  in  this 
instance  ships  have  been  fitted  out  at  the  expense  of  the  Stite, 
officered  by  the  pick  of  our  commanders,  and  the  step  met  with 
the  cordial  approbation  of  ^the  English  people.  It  most  be 
confessed,  that  fear  of  seeing  our  laurels  wrested  from  us  by  the 
generous  enthusiasm  of  our  neighbours  had  at  least  something 
to  do  with  the  decision  arrived  at  by  the  English  Government 
The  Austrians  had  sent  out  a  most  adventurous  expedition,  whidi 
reached  a  very  high  latitude  north-west  of  Novaya-Zemlya ;  hot 
they  were  unable  to  follow  up  their  good  fortune.  Grermanj 
had  done  good  work  in  East  Greenland.  Sweden  had  sent  an 
expedition  to  the  north  of  Spitzbergen,  which  nearly  attained  to 
the  same  latitude  reached  by  Parry  six-and-thirty  years  before. 
The  Americans,  also,  despatched  a  number  of  expeditions  be- 
tween the  years  1859  and  1873  ;  the  last,  under  the  brave  but 
ill-fated  Hall,  attained,  through  Smith  Sound,  to  the  higfaeit 
latitude  ever  reached  by  a  ship  till  then,  and  even  laid  claim  to 
establish  positions  in  the  direction  of  the  Pole  far  above  the 
eighty-third  parallel  of  latitude. 

The  partial  success  of  these,  turned  the  scale  in  favour  of 
the  equipment  of  an  English  expedition.      The  Government 
were  already  more  than  half  inclined  to  the  scheme,  which  ha^ 
the  support  of  the  most  distinguished  Arctic  explorers  and  m^ 
of  science  in  England.     The  news  of  Hall's  discoveries,  wiw^ 
very  inadequate   means,  finally  determined  them   to   proceed. 
Popular  sentiment  is  a  factor  not  to  be  despised  in  such  mattes^ 
and  the  light  in  which  the  expedition  was  regarded  by  the  NaVV 
was  shown  by  the  fact  that  half  the  Navy  List  applied  to  b* 
employed,  and  men  volunteered  in  such  crowds  for  the  ship* 
that  the  officers  fortunate  enough  to  be  ultimately  selected  ft>' 
the  command  were  able  to  select  the  very  flower  of  our  sailor^ 
But  although  the  *  Alert '  and  '  Discovery '  left  our  shores  i^ 
the   midst   of  a   chorus  of  popular   enthusiasm,    the   time    ^^ 
national  excitement  had  been  preceded  by  ten  years  of  he^*' 
tation.     The  tragic  fate  of  Franklin  and  his  brave  companion-^ 
and  the  hardships  endured  by  successive  parties  sent  to  relic*^^ 
him  or  find  traces  of  his  fate,  for  many  years  stayed  the  hara** 
of  those  with  whom  rested  the  responsibility  of  ordering  ne"*"*^ 
expeditions.     It  was  natural  that,  while  that  supreme  tragedj' 
was  still  fresh  in  the  minds  of  men,  they  should  rememb^^^ 
rather  the  responsibility  incurred  than  the  glory  to  be  won,  aim^' 
though  many  experienced  officers   who  had  taken  part  in  tt^* 
various  relief  expeditions  were  ready  to  venture  again  to  tb^* 
scenes  of  their  former  perils,  the  signal  was  still  withheld. 

It  is  a  notable  fact  in  the  history  of  Arctic  exploration  th 


of  the  Arctic  Expedition,  151 

thoie  who  have  once  engaged  in  it  seem  to  find  a  strange  fasci-  - 
nation  in  the  pursuit.  No  one  who  has  once  ventured  into  the 
injiterions  region  can  resist  the  longing  that  impels  him  to  go 
there  again ;  in  vain  the  Ice  King  parades  his  terrors,  in  vain 
the  droury  monotony  of  a  five  months'  night  casts  its  warnings 
shadoirs  over  the  path.  An  *  Old  Arctic '  is  always  ready  to 
laUy  forth  afresh  in  pursuit  of  the  phantom  Pole  which  baft 
always  eluded  his  pursuit  As  regards  the  present  expedition^ 
it  may  be  truly  said  that  the  time  was  ripe  for  a  further  attempt 
on  the  part  of  England.  Public  opinion,  both  popular  and 
•dentific,  was  in  favour  of  it ;  and  it  was  geneiuliy  felt  that^ 
unless  our  country  was  content  to  abandon  the  leading  place 
she  has  always  held  in  maritime  discovery,  it  was  time  for  her 
to  bestir  herself. 

The  conditions  of  Arctic  exploration  are  vastly  different  now 
from  what  they  were  when  Franklin  and  his  gallant  com» 
psnions  set  forth.  Steam  has  made  it  easy  to  advance  under 
circumstances  which  would  have  stopped  the  ships  of  earlier 
niariners.  Accumulated  experience  has  mapped  out  practi- 
cable highways  through  wilds  where  in  Franklin's  time  each- 
>tep  in  advance  was  the  result  rather  of  fortunate  experiment 
than  of  certain  knowledge.  Sledge  travelling  has  been  brought 
almost  to  a  science,  and  the  equipment  of  an  Arctic  ship  is 
*i  well  understood  as  that  of  an  ordinary  surveying  vessel.  It 
wus  said  by  those  who  were  most  active  in  promoting  the 
c^)edition  that  the  two  great  risks  of  former  voyages,  starvation 
md  scurvy,  might  be  absolutely  eliminated  from  the  list  of 
pobable  casualties.  Unfortunately  in  the  case  of  the  latter 
lualady  the  assertion  has  not  been  fulfilled,  but  it  is  undoubt* 
^J  true  that,  when  once  a  proper  system  of  relief  and  com- 
'UUiication  between  the  ships  was  arranged,  the  contingency 
^  death  by  hunger  did  not  assume  any  formidable  propor- 
tions. 

Ilie  problems  presented  by  science  for  solution,  which 
^  Arctic  expedition  might  be  reasonably  expected  to  solve^ 
^^  not  very  numerous   or  very  important.      They  might  set 

*  few  doubts  at  rest,  and  put  a  few  theories  to  the  test  of 
^^ud  experiment;  but  they  were  not  likely  to  break  ground 

*  any  field  of  knowledge  hitherto  unworked;  and  though. 
^  explorers  have  done  good  honest  work  in  several  ways, 
^one,  probably,  would  be  more  ready  than  themselves  ta 
J^knowledge  that  the  part  of  their  duty  which  has  been  per- 
J^med  with  the  greatest  satisfaction,  has  been  that  of  planting 
^^  English  flag  several  miles  nearer  the  Pole  than  the  foot  of  man 
lias  ever  trod  before.     We  may  assign  high-sounding  reasons,. 

and. 


152  Geographical  and  Scientific  Results 

and  keep  up  our  dignity  about  the  matter,  but  the  adyentor 
may  be  well  assured  that  their  pluck  and  daring,  far  more  tl 
their  scientific  achievements,  have  gained  for  them  the  appla^ 
of  their  countrymen.  The  most  valuable  lesson  they  Yu 
taught  us  relates  to  the  morale  of  our  sailors ;  and  without  and 
valuing,  as  the  following  pages  will  prove,  their  sclent 
achievements,  we  confess  that  the  part  of  their  stirr 
record  on  which  we  dwell  with  most  satisfaction  is  that  wh 
describes  the  cheery  good-humour  kept  up  through  the  k 
night,  when,  for  five  long  months,  as  in  Byron's  dream, 

*  Horn  came,  and  went,  and  came,  and  brought  no  day.' 

We  read  with  such  unmixed  satisfaction  of  the  truly  hei 
endurance  exhibited  by  the  sledge  parties  under  Markham  i 
Beaumont  that  we  hardly  care  to  inquire  whether  any  ml 
objects  of  scientific  interest  have  been  left  unattained.  T 
which  was  really  of  most  value  was  the  strict  discipline  k 
up  under  conditions  which  seem  almost  fitted  to  disintegi 
society,  and  reduce  those  who  are  exposed  to  them  to  a  m 
of  selfish  human  beings  struggling  each  for  himseUl  1 
perience  shows  that  English  sailors  can  endure  such  tests, 
it  is  none  the  less  important  that  we  should  be  occasions 
reminded  that  the  old  stufi*  is  still  available.  We  are 
apt  to  look  upon  that  instinct  of  discipline  which  characteri 
the  English  race  as  a  mere  matter  of  .course ;  that  it  is 
so  may  be  seen  by  the  records  of  the  ^Polaris'  expedit 
after  the  death  of  Hall.  Let  those  who  doubt  either 
reality  of  the  danger  to  be  feared  or  the  just  cause  we  h 
for  national  pride  and  thankfulness  at  the  completeness  w 
which  it  has  been  avoided,  read  the  significant  words 
Mr.  Robeson,  Secretary  of  the  American  Navy,  in  his  le 
to  the  President  of  the  United  States.  *  Experience  has  c 
firmed  me/  he  writes,  *  in  the  conviction  that  there  is  li 
of  either  success  or  safety  in  any  trying,  distant,  and  danger 
expedition,  which  is  not  organised,  prosecuted,  and  control 
under  the  sanctions  of  military  discipline.'  Mr.  Robeson  1 
before  him  as  he  wrote  the  recent  fate  of  an  expedition 
which,  after  the  leader's  death,  the  subordination  of  the  a 
vivors  broke  down,  and  showed  utter  weakness  in  the  essenti 
of  discipline  and  cohesion.  Under  infinitely  greater  ha 
ships,  our  own  men  came  out  nobly. 

When  once  the  despatch  of  an  expedition  was  resolved  up 
the  next  consideration  was  to  decide  on  the  route  whidi 
was  to  pursue.  On  that  point  a  great  variety  of  informat 
had  gradually  been  amassed.     A  special  committee  appoin 


of  the  Arctic  Expedition.  153 

by  the  Royal  Geographical  Society  were  unanimous  in  favour 
of  the  route  by  Smith  Sound.  No  less  than  five  admirals,  all 
of  them  distinguished  in  Arctic  navigation,  were  members  of 
this  committee.  Sir  Greorge  Back,  CoUinson,  Ommanney, 
Riduods,  Sir  Leopold  M^Clintock,  and  Sherard  Osborn,  sat 
upm  it,  as  well  as  some  distinguished  non-professional  persons. 
It  is  not  a  little  curious  that  a  society  entirely  unconnected 
with  Goyemment  should  be  able  to  obtain  the  service  of  a  body 
of  men  whose  names  add  such  weight  to  their  expression  of 
opinion  on  an  extremely  technical  subject.  They  were,  indeed, 
of  high  authority.  Sir  George  Back  was  the  Nestor  of  English 
explorers;  he  served  in  the  first  Arctic  expedition  of  this 
oentaiy ;  he  had  himself  explored  a  larger  portion  of  the 
Ajctic  region  than  any  other  living  man  ;  and  one  of  the  finest 
exploits  of  recent  times  was  his  winter  passed  in  the  pack,  and 
subsequent  safely-accomplished  return  across  the  Atlantic  with 
the  sinking  ^  Terror.'  Collinson  and  M^CIure  both  commanded 
exploring  ships,  and  one  made  the  North-West  Passage. 
Ommanney,  Osborn,  and  Richards,  had  all  served  in  or  com- 
manded eiqpeditions.  M^Clintock,  of  all  searchers,  alone  brought 
home  authentic  relics  and  records  of  Franklin. 

The  committee   recommended   the  route   by   Smith   Sound 

for  three  principal   reasons :    that  of  all   the  ways   in  which 

^he  Pole  has  been  attacked  it  alone  gives  a  certainty  of  ex- 

I^oring  a  previously   unknown   area   of  considerable   extent; 

^lut  it   yields  the   best   prospect    of  valuable   discoveries   in 

^ftrioos  branches  of  science,  and  that,  from  the  continuity  of 

y^  land   from   the   eighty-second   parallel,   to   the  open   sea, 

\^  promises  reasonable   security  for  the  retreat  of  the   crews, 

j^  case  of  disaster  to  the  ships.     These  opinions  were  much 

•oitified  by  the  report  of  the  crew  of  the  *  Polaris,'  who  were 

^   only   persons   acquainted   with    the   upper   waters   of  the 

'^tUuL      Admiral  Inglefield   did   not  pass  the   entrance;  Dr. 

•^•tie  and  Dr.  Hayes  wintered  only  a  few  miles  inside  of  it ; 

^t  the  *  Polaris,'  a  mere  river  steamer,  not  by  any  means  too 

^^  fitted  for  the  work  of  Arctic  exploration,  was  able,  in  one 

^orldng  season,  to  pass  up  the  strait  for  a  distance  of  250  miles 

^thout  any  hindrance  whatever   to  the  highest  latitude  ever 

^^**incd  by  a  vessel.     The  committee  laid  great  stress  on  the 

*J^  reported  by  the  *  Polaris,'  that  there  was  navigable  water 

*^I  to  the  north  of  the  highest  point  she  reached.     It  now 

appears  that  this  was  a  mistake,  and  that  the  sea  to  the  shores 

^*  Which  this  little  vessel  with  its  crew  of  twenty-five  men  was 

^'^ed,  is  impassable.     It  will  never  be  sailed  by  mortal  keel 

^U    the  distant  day  when  Time  shall  turn  his  hour-glass  once 

more 


154  Geographical  and  Scientific  Bemdts 

more  and  sweep  away  the  paleocrjstic  ice  into  the  limbo  whi 
already  holds  the  relics  of  bygone  glacial  ages.  The  bn 
leader  of  that  expedition  lay  down  to  die  on  the  shores  of 
icy  ocean.  A  monument,  erected  by  British  sailors,  marks 
grave.  The  survivors,  deprived  of  his  firm  hand,  and  abandoi 
to  distracted  councils,  found  their  way  home  through  fright 
difficulties ;  yet  in  doing  so  they  unconsciously  added  anoti 
to  the  many  reasons  which  already  pointed  out  the  road  tl 
pioneered  as  the  best  to  follow.  On  their  return  voyagi 
large  portion  of  the  crew  became  detached  from  the  ship  s 
floated  away  helplessly  on  a  great  field  of  drift  ice.  1 
187  days — from  the  15th  of  October  to  the  21st  of  Apri 
they  remained  on  their  dreary  prison,  and  during  that  ti 
were  drifted  by  the  current  right  down  Davis  Strait  from 
entrance  of  Whale  Sound  to  the  coast  of  Labrador.  T 
added  another  proof  to  those  which  already  existed  of  a  south 
current  always  setting  from  the  Pole.  In  the  same  manner 
ship  *  Resolute '  was  driven  from  the  north ;  so  was  the  *  F< 
in  the  first  year  of  M^Clintock's  search  for  Franklin ;  so  too  i 
the  ship  *  Advance ;'  while  on  the  opposite  side  of  Greenlf 
the  German  expedition  of  1870,  after  the  wreck  of  the  *  Han 
drifted  down  from  latitude  of  72°  to  Cape  Farewell.  To  th 
we  may  add  the  experience  of  Parry  in  his  sledge  joun 
from  Spitzbergen  northward  across  the  Polar  pack.  1 
experience  thus  gained  by  so  many  concurrent  observati< 
went  far  to  prove  that  those  who  advanced  towards  the  F 
by  way  of  Smith  Sound  need  not  be  under  the  apprehensioc 
being  permanently  beset,  as  had  too  often  been  the  case  w 
expeditions  in  other  parts  of  the  Polar  regions. 

Another  reason  which  weighed  in  favour  of  the   route 
Smith  Sound  was  the  large  quantity  of  animal  life  which  i 
observed  in  the  high  latitudes  where  the  *  Polaris '  passed 
winter.     In  the  official  report  to  the  President  of  the  Uni 
States,  it  is  said  that  musk  oxen  were  shot  at  intervals  all 
winter,  during  which  season  they  were  able  to  obtain  food 
scraping  off  the  snow  with  their  hoofs  from  the  scanty  An 
mosses  that  grew  upon  the  rocks.     Wolves,  bears,  foxes,  1< 
mings,  and  other  mammals  were  repeatedly  observed.     G& 
ducks,  waterfowl,  plovers,  and  wading  birds  were  comparati^ 
few ;  there  were,  however,  as  might  be  expected,  large  numl 
of  ptarmigan  or  snow  partridge. 

There  are  three  other  routes  by  which  attempts  have  b 
made  to  reach  the  Pole,  but  they  were  only  discussed  in  oi 
to  be  immediately  abandoned ;  one  was  by  Behring  Str 
this  was  the  one  pursued  by  CoUinson  in  the  *  Enterprise,'  i 

MC 


156  Geographical  and  Scientific  Results 

the  German  expedition  did  not  encourage  the  despatch  i 
expedition  by  way  of  East  Greenland.  Nor  was  the  rep 
the  Austro-Hungarian  expedition,  as  to  tl^e  route  they  foil 
more  inviting. 

In  a  preliminary  voyage  commanded  by  Captain  Weyi 
and  Lieutenant  Julius  Payer,  the  latter  of  whom  had  served 
Koldewey  on  the  east  coast  of  Greenland,  an  attempt  was 
to  follow  the  Gulf  Stream  into  the  supposed  Polar  bas 
keeping  to  the  eastward  of  Spitzbergen.  After  beating  ab 
the  latitude  of  78°  N.,  in  very  thick  fogs  and  stiff  coi 
gales,  they  were  driven  back.  They  saw,  however,  several 
of  being  in  the  proximity  of  the  land  which  they  discover 
their  subsequent  voyage.  In  the  following  year,  the  sb 
*  Tegethoff '  was  fitted  out  in  the  Elbe  for  more  extended  < 
tions.  Leaving  Tromso  Harbour  on  July  14,  1872, 
reached  the  coast  of  Novaya-Zemlya  on  the  29th. 
battling  bravely  for  nearly  a  month,  the  ship  was  bes 
floating  ice  on  the  23rd  of  August,  near  the  northern  cot 
Novaya-Zemlya.  She  was  never  afterwards  extricated ;  ai 
two  years  the  intrepid  navigators  remained  imbedded  in  tb 
floe,  and  were  drifted  on  it  to  the  shores  of  a  hitherto  i 
covered  land,  thereby  making  a  great  geog^phical  disc 
under  circumstances  absolutely  unprecedented.  The  res 
their  voyage  is  given  by  Lieutenant  Fayer  in  a  magnificent 
which  we  greatly  regret  not  being  able  to  notice  in  g 
detail.*  No  more  stirring  chronicle  of  adventure  waj 
penned  than  that  of  the  gallant  Hungarian  and  his  compa 
They  gave  to  the  land  they  discovered  the  name  of  1 
Joseph  Land;  but  the  sledge  journeys  which  they  orgi 
from  the  basis  of  the  ice-imbedded  ^Tegethoff,'  while 
added  largely  to  geographical  and  scientific  knowledge,  ] 
also  beyond  a  doubt  that  Franz-Joseph  Land  offered  no 
ticable  route  to  the  North.  We  have  no  space  to  follow 
adventures;  the  only  circumstance  with  which  we  are 
cemed  being  the  fact,  that  the  route  selected  by  them  w. 
available  for  Polar  discoveries.  It  is  impossible,  howe 
avoid  recording  our  tribute  of  admiration  to  the  heroi 
durance  with  which,  after  abandoning  their  ship,  they  stn 
for  months  across  a  treacherous  floating  desert  of  ice,  ii 
return  home.  Dragging  their  boats  with  them  to  the  edge 
pack,  they  finally  embarked  in  them  for  the  island  of  N 
^emlya,  where  they  were  picked  up  by  a  Russian  schoon 

*  *  Die  OesterreichiBch-Ungarifiche  Xordpol-Expedition  in  don  Jahiei 
1874.'    Von  Julius  Payer.    Wien,  1876. 


of  the.  Arctic  Expedition.  157 

landed  in  Norway.  The  passage  in  which  Payer  describes  the 
sad  necessity  that  compelled  them  to  kill  the  dogs,  their  faithful 
companions  and  willing  slaves  throughout  the  adventurous 
journey,  when  they  were  unable  to  take  them  into  the  over- 
crowded boats,  is  one  of  the  most  touching  that  can  be  con- 
txived.  An  English  translation  of  Lieutenant  Payer's  delightful 
work  has  been  recently  published,  and  a  risumi  of  their  adven- 
tnres,  given  by  Payer  himself  to  the  Royal  Geographical  Society, 
is  to  be  found  in  Mr.  Clements  Markham's  *  Threshold  of  the 
Unknown  Region.' 

The  reader  will  have  no  difficulty  in  seeing  that,  supposing 
the  primary  object  of  the  expedition  to  be  the  attainment  of  the 
highest  possible  latitude,  and  assuming  the  information  of  the 
'Pohris  respecting  land  that  stretched  up  from  Cape  Union, 
in  the  direction  of  the  Pole,  to  be  correct,  there  could  be  no  hesi- 
tation as  to  the  route  which  it  was  necessary  for  the  expedition 
to  pnrsne.  But  it  is  worthy  of  remark  that  the  attainment  of 
the  Pole  was  now  for  the  first  time  put  forward  as  the  first 
object  of  an  expedition.  The  instructions  to  Sir  John  Franklin 
usigned  as  the  main  object  the  exploration  of  the  Arctic  regions 
and  the  advantages  which  would  accrue  to  navigation  from  the 
discovery  of  a  North- West  Passage.  The  sailing  orders  for 
the 'Alert'  and  *  Discovery'  point  to  a  different  goal.  *Her 
Majesty's  Government  have  determined  that  an  expedition  of 
Aittic  exploration  and  discovery  should  be  undertaken,  .  .  . 
the  scope  and  primary  object  of  which  should  be,  to  attain  the 
lughest  northern  latitude,  and,  if  possible,  to  reach  the  North 
Pole;  and  from  winter  quarters  to  explore  the  adjacent  coasts 
'^thin  reach  of  travelling  parties,'  &c.  Our  sketch  would  be 
hj  no  means  complete  without  a  word  as  to  the  reason  of  this 
*«ige  of  front 

^The  fact  is  now  acknowledged  that  the  North- West  Passage 
**  &  question  of  practical  utility  must  definitively  be  abandoned. 
It  may  be  possible  for  a  single  ship,  under  exceptional  circum- 
^iioes  and  in  some  peculiarly  favourable  season,  to  pass 
J'ongh.  The  journey  has  been  made  by  the  crew  of  Sir 
*J> Wt  M*Clure  s  ship,  but  the  *  Investigator '  herself  left  her 
^es  on  the  further  side  of  the  impassable  barrier.  No  ship 
"^hitherto  sailed  from  ocean  to  ocean.  Some  enthusiastic 
^▼igators  still  think  that  the  North- West  Passage  can  be 
''^e.  Captain  Allen  Young,  who  certainly  has  a  claim  founded 
^P<>Q  past  exploits  to  speak  with  great  authority  on  the  subject, 
jl^lds  to  the  opinion  that  the  achievement  is  not  beyond  the 
{J?^t8  of  possibility.  This  mysterious  region  has  enthralled 
^^)  more,  perhaps,  than  any  other  man,  with  its  inexplicable 

enchantment ; 


158  Geographical  and  Scientific  Results 

enchantment ;  and  it  is  believed  by  his  friends  that  he  intends 
again  to  fit  out  his  Arctic  yacht  to  solve  the  problem.  It  i 
perhaps  no  wonder  that  he  should  entertain  this  belief ;  he  stoo 
with  M^Clintock  looking  eastward  from  a  cliff  at  the  end  < 
Bellot  Strait,  when  only  a  few  miles  of  ice  separated  them  froi 
open  water,  which  his  own  extraordinary  sledge  joamey  afte 
wards  proved  to  be  connected  by  navigable  water  with  tl 
Pacific.  Sir  Leopold  himself  shared  the  opinion  of  his  firioii< 
He  thought,  from  what  he  had  seen  of  the  ice  in  Frank  li 
Strait,  that,  provided  the  ice  block  at  the  mouth  of  Bellot  Stra 
was  overcome,  the  chances  were  greatly  in  favour  of  his  leacliiii 
Cape  Herschel  on  the  south  side  of  King  William  Land.  *  Froi 
Bellot  Strait  to  Cape  Victoria  we  found  a  mixture  of  old  an 
new  ice,  showing  the  exact  proportion  of  pack  and  of  clear  wat4 
at  the  setting  in  of  winter.  South  of  Cape  Victoria  I  doul 
whether  any  future  obstruction  would  have  been  experiences 
as  but  little,  if  any,  ice  remained.  The  natives  told  us  the  ic 
went  away  and  left  a  clear  sea  every  year.'  * 

It  is  hard  to  believe  that  a  feat  so  nearly  accomplished  caJn 
not  be  completely  achieved.  But  as  far  as  the  despatch  < 
government  exploring  expeditions  is  concerned,  ^the  loss  ^ 
Sir  John  Franklin  put  a  final  end  to  further  attempts  in  tbf 
direction.  Every  one,  at  least  every  one  who  belongs  to  tfa 
generation  now  in  middle  age,  remembers  that  Sir  John  Fraitt 
lin  was  last  seen  by  some  whalers  near  the  entrance  of  Lancastc 
Sound,  but  was  never  heard  of  alive  again.  It  was  not  till  afte 
the  lapse  of  years,  and  the  despatch  of  many  search  exp^ 
ditions,  that  news  was  received  of  his  fate.  Dr.  Rae,  ^ 
official  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  was  the  first  to  gi^' 
any  definite  information.  He  stated  that,  while  engaged  00  * 
survey  of  the  Gulf  of  Boothia,  he  had  fallen  in  with  Esquimai^ 
who  told  him  that  a  party  subsequently  identified  with  tb< 
survivors  of  the  Franklin  expedition  had  died  of  hunger  ncB 
the  mouth  of  the  Great  Fish  River.  Sir  Leopold  M*Clintacl 
in  the  *  Fox,'  afterwards  cleared  up  the  details.  We  now  kno^ 
that  Sir  John  himself  died  in  the  second  year  of  his  abseD^^ 
after  being  driven  down,  enclosed  in  the  ice,  from  Barro^ 
Strait  to  a  point  near  the  Magnetic  Pole.  M^Cluie  a0' 
CoUinson  sought  him  from  the  west,  many  sought  him  iroi 
the  waters  of  Baffin's  Bay,  but  although  the  tracks  of  the  e^ 
plorers  from  the  east  and  west,  overlapped  each  other  repeatedl 
in  point  of  longitude,  no  one  has  ever  yet  been  able  to  jo^ 
together  the  two  ends  of  the  thread.  The  ice,  piled  up  in  lafi^ 
locked  channels,  effectually  prevents  the  passage  of  a  snip. 

•  M'Oliiitobk'8 '  Fbto  of  Fxanklin.' 


of  the  Arctic  Expedition.  159 

Less  enthusiastic  explorers  than  Captain  Allen  Young  have 

long  looked  upon  the  great  tract  which  goes  by  the  name  of  the 

Arctic  Archipelago  (in  our  sketch  map  it  is  called  bj  its  other 

name,  the  Parry  Islands)  as  a  vast  trap  into  which  no  ship  can 

venture  far  with  a  reasonable   chance  of  escape.     There   the 

•  Heda  *  and  *  Fury  *  were  lost ;  there  the  *  Erebus '  and  *  Terror ' 

vrere  abandoned ;  there  lies  the  wreck  of  the  ^  Investigator ' ; 

tliere,  too,  at  one  swoop,  the  ice  closed  in  for  ever  round  the  five 

sliips  of  Sir  Richard  Belcher's  squadron,  the  ^  Assistance,'  the 

•  Xeiolute,  the  *  Intrepid,'  the  *  Pioneer,'  and  the  *  North  Star.' 

Ilie  reason  of  the  formation  of  this  icy  cul-de-sac  is  the  meeting 

of  the  eastern  tide  through  the  Spitzbergen  seas  with  the  tide 

finmi  [the  west  through  Behring  Strait ;  a  dead  water,  or  rather 

£c3e  block,  is  thus  formed,  which  never  opens. 

But  the  self-same  drift,  which,  travelling  southward  and  west- 
^rard  from  the  Polar  Sea,  blocks  up  the  North- West  Passage, 
^ives  to  ships  going  up  Smith  Sound,  and  consequently  keep- 
ing to  the  east  of  the  block,  a  sure  prospect  of  return ;  for 
^iren  if  they  were  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  beset,  they  would 
auMDiedly  be  drifted  down  enclosed  in  the  floe  by  the  south- 
going  current  to  the  open  sea. 

For  all  these  reasons,  the  route  by  Smith  Sound  was  ulti- 
xnatdy  selected.  The  Scientific  Committee  of  the  Geographical 
Society,  aided  by  a  similar  committee  appointed  by  the  Koyal 
Society,  drew  up  a  series  of  detailed  remarks,  which  were  after- 
^^ttds  embodied  in  official  instructions  to  Sir  George  Nares, 
ud  gave  the  final  shape  to  his  plans  and  proceedings.  Our 
leaders  are  probably  well-acquainted  with  their  scheme,  so  far 
at  least  as  it  has  been  carried  out  by  the  actual  proceedings 
of  the  expedition.  It  is  sufficient  to  say,  in  general  terms,  that 
the  committee  recommended  the  equipment  of  two  moderate- 
'^'ed  screw  steamers,  one  to  be  stationed"  at  a  point  within  the 
^trance  to  Smith  Sound,  the  other  to  advance  as  far  as  possible 
^  the  northward,  preserving  communication  with  the  depot 
^^>iel.  They  proposed  that  sledge  parties  should  start  in  the 
^ly  spring,  and  explore  the  unknown  region  in  various 
^^'^'f^ons,  while  the  scientific  staff  on  board  the  respective 
'"^ps  would  be  able  to  prosecute  researches  both  on  shore 
^^  on  the  ice.  They  thought  that  in  the  improbable  event 
^^  accidents,  the  expeditions  could  retreat  to  the  Danish  settle- 
^^ts  in  Ghreenland.  The  memorandum  in  which  the  Arctic 
^aunittee  embodied  their  views  of  the  advantages  which  would 
^^^^ne  to  various  branches  of  science  by  the  renewal  of  Arctic 
^^loration  is,  as  might  be  expected  from  the  eminence  of  the 
P^^'ont  who  composed  it,  of  very  great  value.    Not  only  did  they 

collect 


I  r,0  (jcoffrapliitial  arul  Scientific  Results 

viA\v(i  within  tlir*  npacn  of  a  short  memorandum  a  compendiani 
of  all  thr  n*Hult»  iUf.y  anticipated,  but  both  the  Royal  Sodet}' 
find  thc^  iloyal  (ioofp-aphical  Society  undertook  a  larger  worL 
Thf'y  nppriintcKl  cflitorial  committees  to  gather  together  all  the 
iinittf*rf*d  iniimorandn  which  could  be  gleaned  from  periodicili, or 
from  b(N>ks,  n?si)ectin|(  Arctic  exploration.  The  Royal  Societj, 
in  its  puhlicntion,  dealt  with  physical  matters — astronomy, 
trrn*strinl  ma^rnetism,  meteorology,  zoology,  and  botany;  while 
thr  (irofrrnphical  Society's  publication  was  devoted  prindpallj 
1o  f;(M)frrnpliy,  hydrography,  and  ethnology.  In  fact,  a  whok 
An-tir  lihriiry,  more  comprehensive  than  has  ever  before  been 
c'oniprossrd  into  so  small  a  compass,  is  to  be  found  in  these  two 
valuable,  though  they  can  scarcely  be  called  readable,  volameL 
Thr  Admiralty  selected  two  vessels  —  H.M.S.  *  Alert' an* 
till*  wlmling^vossol  *•  Bloodhound,'  which  was  forthwith  bought 
intti  tho  Navy  and  renamed  the  *  Discovery.'  The  Hjdio- 
^raphor  of  the  Admiralty  was  directed  to  furnish  an  estimitecf 
fho  pn^Kiblo  expenses.  The  purchase  of  two  suitable  resA 
their  fitting  and  equipment,  their  stores,  scientific  gear,  Tictoal- 
Unif.  and  iwiK.hc  set  down  for  the  first  year  at  56,000/.  The 
total  iMst  for  two  years  and  a  half,  including  wages  and  salariO) 
ho  put  down  at  UX\000/.;  adding  that,  should  the  expeditioB 
ivtum  in  Ios«  than  two  years  and  a  half,  the  expense  would  he 
pi»|x^rtionaMy  diminished.  The  stores  sent  by  the  Unitd 
>tAi«^*  Itovoromont  for  the  relief  of  the  *  Polaris'  were  place' 
a:  :V.r  dis^v^sal  of  the  Knglish ;  the  only  condition  being  thiti 
in  x]\c  c\c\\\  of  tho  «orM  being  used,  a  proper  inventoiji»l 
nj^pvAisrm^'nt  should  Iv  made  by  order  of  the  commander;  iwl 
i^Af,  it'  \]'.c  )>e:-ir.uluin  should  be  found  in  its  cache  at  Lifehoit 
i\^\r.  i;  sV.o;;i*i,  alicr  u*p  by  the  British  expedition,  be  w 
:-,-.:~irsl.  r»^cr;brT  miih  any  other  instruments^  and  such  iitt 
•:vi^\-r.^*^r,:s.  an*i   KxA*.  as  miirhi  be  recoveiwl,  to  the  Unitrf 

V'.-.i'  f\-jV\".;:^.^r.  was  «*any  for  ssea  at  the  end  of  May  IWS- 

r  r  •  \.«:-:/  *  l^iso.^vrn.'  Mici  •Valorous.'  which  latter  reiiJ 

rr-.-^^r.^  :hrm  to  D:«*o  with  stores,  left  Bantij  BiJ 

/'.:;-»f.  r.T>.".  aftrr  in«*rinfr  heavr  weather  dmiBJ 

::  J.:  rr/iTiTV..  fcrrivfn-?  a:  Vpemirik  on  Ae  23iid« 

...»        I    .   iV.  iY-*T).-c  »■»:  Nor:r.  Greenland  supplied  them  with 

.:..i-s.  '.'*.    V  ??.  ■•.   -^'^  sri^rr.^r.  r-;iir;  Upermri^  the  twodiipihail 

I  .V"  k  rr^'r^y  hr  r.insi/jrrfr.  ibr  furthest  limit  of  **fl" 
r V .-•.'■".-*. .  •  a.\'..-f.'.'^  kn  'wr.  watnrs.  HienoeCoidi  thtf 
■\\y:^f  V  .'.i  .r».'  ..  .s,v  vf^r^  af  wc.  as  of  adventure.  AldwV 
i:!f     * .  vr^f     ..:    Sm.i:.    S.iuncl   Timcnted   ohIt  Ac  owKbhJ 


of  the  Arctic  Expedition,  161 

iilSciilties  and  clangers  of  Arctic  navigation,  both  ships  en- 
Donntered  their  full  amount  of  exciting  adventure.  One  such 
KOM^  mentioned  by  Sir  George  Nares,  affords  an  illustration  of 
lie  manner  in  which  icebergs,  floating  with  their  bases  deep 
lown  in  under  currents,  sometimes  crash  their  way  through 
loe  ice  drifting  in  an  exactly  opposite  direction  under  the 
nfloence  of  wind  or  surface  current.  On  the  night  of  the 
>th  of  August  both  the  ships  were  beset  in  the  pack  opposite 
ipe  Albert,  at  the  mouth  of  Hayes  Sound.  They  were 
eaired  in  the  floe  about  a  hundred  yards  apart,  and  found 
hemselves  drifting  rapidly  towards  an  iceberg.  Both  ships 
rere  at  once  prepared  for  a  severe  nip,  with  rudders  and 
crews  unshipped.  *At  first  the  "Discovery"  was  apparently 
n  the  most  dangerous  position ;  but  the  floe  in  which  they 
rexe  sealed  up,  by  wheeling  round,  while  it  relieved  Captain 
itephenson  from  any  immediate  apprehension,  brought  the 
^  Alert "  directly  in  the  path  of  the  advancing  mass,  which  was 
teadily  tearing  its  way  through  the  intermediate  surface  ice. 
rhe ''  Alert "  was  saved  in  the  nick  of  time  by  the  splitting  up 
•f  the  floe.' 

On  the  morning  of  the  25th  of  August,  after  fighting  their 
^J  through  the  ice  for  many  days  with  constant  labour,  they 
discovered  a  large  and  well-protected  harbour  inside  an  island 
nimediately  west  of  Cape  Bellot,  on  the  northern  shore  of  Lady 
'Rtnklin  Sound.  Finding  that  this  harbour  was  suitable  in 
^*ciy  way  for  winter  quarters,  and  the  abundance  of  the  spare 
lictic  vegetation  in  the  neighbourhood  giving  every  promise  of 
l^e  being  procurable,  Sir  George  Nares  determined  to  leave 
fce  'Discovery'  here  for  the  winter,  and  to  push  forward  with  the 
Alert'  alone.  On  the  morning  of  the  1st  September  the 
Alert'  passed  up  Robeson  Strait,  running  before  a  strong 
!de  nine  knots  and  a  half  an  hour.  At  noon,  having  carried 
ler  Majesty's  ship  into  latitude  82°  24'  N.,  a  higher  latitude 
■^  any  vessel  had  ever  before  attained,  the  ensign  was  hoisted 
tthe  peak.  Sir  George  Nares  was  now  fairly  embarked  on 
^  Polar  Ocean  ;  but  he  at  once  found  himself  confronted  with 
^  stupendous  ice  which  had  stopped  Collinson,  M'Clure, 
«ny,  Franklin,  and,  in  fact,  every  voyager  that  ever  embarked 
|K)n  its  waters.  In  another  hour  he  was  standing  to  the  westward, 
Hireen  the  pack  and  the  land,  and  before  nightfall  the  '  Alert ' 
^  reached  the  extreme  point  of  her  journey. 
Henceforth,  whatever  had  to  be  done  was  to  be  done  by  the 
lentific  men  and  sledging  parties  of  the  expedition. 
The  space  into  which  the  *  Alert '  and  *  Discovery '  had  so 
!•  forced   their  way  is  that  which  on  an   ordinary  terrestrial 

Vol.  143.— iVb.  285.  M  globe 


162  Geographical  and  Scientific  Results 

globe  is  covered  by  the  brass  hour  circle ;  on  the  ad 
earth  it  is  absolutely  unknown.  Taking  the  Pole  m 
centre  of  this  inhospitable  waste,  there  are  only  thiea  pdl 
in  the  surrounding  circle  where  the  foot  of  man  hiii 
proached  it  within  eight  degrees  or  480  geographical  mi] 
These  three  points  are  in  60°  longitude  east  from  Greenwi 
where  the  Austrians  under  Weyprecht  and  Payer  made  tli 
remarkable  discoveries  ;  in  longitude  20°  £.,  where,  as  far  h 
as  1827,  Sir  Edward  Parry  got  up  to  latitude  82°  40' ;  and 
longitude  60°  W.,  where  both  the  Americans  under  Hall  i 
•our  latest  expedition  have  fought  their  way  within  the  ma 
circle.  But  this  is  the  limit ;  no  human  foot  has  ever  yet ; 
up  to  the  parallel  of  84°.  Following  the  circumference  of 
80th  parallel  westward  from  the  scene  of  Nares'  researches, 
find  that  it  passes  far  to  the  north  of  the  vast  cluster  of  islai 
among  which  Sir  John  Franklin's  expedition  was  lost.  1 
neither  there,  nor  to  the  north  of  Russian  America,  nor 
Behring  Strait,  nor  of  the  long  coast-line  of  Siberia,  do 
know  of  any  land  that  stretches  upwards  towards  the  Pole, 
glance  at  the  map  will  show  that  within  the  basin  of  the  Fo 
Sea,  there  is  no  indication  of  anything  like  a  continent,  orei 
a  large  island,  in  the  whole  space  between  the  Siberian  i 
American  shores  and  the  Pole.  At  one  time  it  was  a  favoni 
idea  with  geographical  theorists  that  the  space  around  the  F 
was  an  open  sea.  Dr.  Augustus  Petermann,  the  Grerman  g 
grapher,  was  indefatigable  in  his  attempts  to  uphold  this  bel 
It  was  only  finally  set  at  rest  by  Captain  Markham's  ad?) 
turous  sledge  journey  in  the  spring  of  the  present  year.  1 
Polar  Sea,  as  far  as  we  know  it,  is  studded  with  islands ;  a; 
reasoning  from  analogy,  there  are  grounds  for  the  conclnsi 
that  the  remaining,  or  unknown  portion,  is  similar  in  charac 
to  that  which  has  been  already  surveyed.  One  of  the  poi 
which  it  was  hoped  the  English  expedition  would  decider 
whether  there  was  a  water  communication,  on  the  north  co 
of  Greenland,  between  the  Atlantic  and  the  Polar  Ses, 
whether,  as  some  supposed,  Greenland  is  part  of  a  Polar  c( 
tinent.  But  though  accumulating  evidence  points  to  the  o( 
elusion  that  it  is  an  island,  the  matter  still  lies  outside  t 
limits  of  positive  proof. 

The  whole  of  the  Polar  basin  westward  and  northward  of  < 
Parry  Islands  appears  to  be  occupied  by  a  huge  field  of  i 
different  in  character  from  anything  found  elsewhere  in  J 
Arctic  regions.  Sir  Robert  M'Clure  traced  it  from  Behri: 
Strait  to  the  north-west  of  Banks  Land,  round  a  great  cnrrc 
more  than  a  thousand  miles.     Sir  George  Nares  found  it  to  t 

001 


of  the  Arctic  Expedition.  163 

iiDorth  of  Smith   Sound,   and  gave   it  the  distinctive  name  of 

''iMeocTjstic  ice.    Admiral  Sherard  Oshorn  descrihes  it  as  *^a  vast 

adoiting,  glacier-like  mass,  surging  to  and  fro  in  an  enclosed  area 

•ijof  ihe  Arctic  Sea."     Admiral  Osbom  concludes  that  there  must 

te  land,  or  at  least  islands,  between  Spitzbei^en  and  Behring 

Strait,  because  the   paleocrjstic   ice   never,  even  in    the   most 

fnrioiis  gales,  moves  far  away  from  the  American  shore.    If  there 

bad  been  space  for  it  to  move  north,  he  says,  the  furious  south 

stonns  which  sweep  over  the  North  American  continent  would 

blow  it  far  in  that  direction,  and  bring  its  masses  down  into  the 

Atlantic  by  way  of  Spitzbergen  :  whereas,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it 

never  goes  more  than  a  few  miles  off  the  American  coast,  leaving 

a  narrow  belt  of  water,  and  directly  the  gale  abates,  it  surges 

back  again,  with  its  edge  grounding  in  12  fathoms  of  water. 

The  same  phenomenon  occurred  along  its  eastern  edge,  where 
the  great  ice-field  impinged  on  the  archipelago  at  Banks 
Island;  and  Sir  George  Nares  made  a  similar  observation  as 
regards  the  north  shore  of  Grinnell  Land,  where  the  'Alert* 
passed  the  winter.  We  quote  isolated  lines  from  a  passage 
spread  over  two  or  three  pages,  remarking  that  the  evidence 
thus  given  by  Sir  George  is  quite  unconscious,  as  the  passage 
Wider  consideration  relates  primarily  to  the  safety  of  his  ship, 
*nd  not  to  the  nature  of  the  ice.  He  says,  *  On  leaving  Robeson 
Channel,  immediately  the  land  trends  to  the  westward,  the  coast- 
line loses  its  steep  character,  and  the  heavy  ice  is  stranded  at  a 
distance  of  100  to  200  yards  from  the  shore,  forming  a  fringe  of 
<J«tached  masses  of  ice  from  20  feet  to  upwards  of  60  feet  in 
weight  above  water,  and  lying  aground  in  from  8  to  12  fathoms.* 
Sir  George  secured  his  ship  inside  this  protecting  barrier,  and, 
^0  days  later,  during  a  squall  from  the  south-west,  *  the  pack 
slowly  retreat^  towards  the  north-east.  .  .  .  The  gale  con- 
tinued all  night,  and  drove  the  pack  two  miles  off  shore.  .  .  . 
^  the  morning  of  the  2nd  of  September  the  wind  suddenly 
shifted  to  north-west,  bringing  the  pack  rapidly  in  towards  the 
land.' 

^  These  extracts  strikingly  confirm  Sherard  Osborn's  descrip- 
tion of  the  '  glacier-like  mass  surging  to  and  fro  in  an  enclosed 
area,*  which  we  gave  above. 

The  paleocrystic  ice  is  of  most  tremendous  character.  Sir 
^'^rge  Nares  tells  us  that  its  motion  is  entirely  different  from  that 
P'^uced  by  the  meeting  of  ordinary  floes.  '  In  the  latter  case 
the  broken  edges  of  the  two  pieces  of  ice,  each  striving  for  the 
Mastery,  are  readily  upheaved,  and  continually  fall  over  with  a 
'^oisy  crash.  In  the  former,  the  enormous  pressure,  raising 
pieces  frequently  30,000  tons  in  weight  in  comparative  silence, 

M  2  displays 


164  Geographical  and  Scientific  Results 

displays  itself  with  becoming  solemnity  and  grandeur.'  It  ir&ai 
be  imagined  what  obstacles  such  ice  presents  to  the  advazmc 
of  loaded  sledges ;  yet  over  it  the  advance  of  Captain  Marklickj 
towards  the  Pole  had  to  be  made. 

The  geographical  question  whether  Greenland  is  or  is  not  a 
island,  which  was  presented  for  solution  to  the  explorua 
parties  of  Sir  George  Nares,  is  not  one  of  idle  or  even,  i 
merely  scientific  curiosity.  It  is  one  which  practically  affi 
the  lives  and  well-being  of  all  inhabitants  of  the  tempe: 
regions  of  the  earth.  As  it  can  be  shown  that  our  tempe: 
climate  depends  upon  the  nature  and  direction  of  ocean  currex^t 
any  alteration  in  these  phenomena  would  produce  most  startLxn 
effects  upon  our  well-being.  The  climate  of  Europe  itself  in  n 
small  degree  depends  upon  the  atmospheric  condition  of  the  Pole 
the  development  there  of  extremely  low  temperature  necessaril 
leads  to  corresponding  changes  of  pressure  and  other  atmosph^ri 
disturbances,  the  effects  of  which  are  felt  far  into  the  tempex'a.t 
zone.  To  such  an  extent,  indeed,  is  the  temperature  of  'tb 
Equatorial  regions  lowered,  and  that  of  the  temperate  and  Pols 
regions  raised,  by  means  of  ocean  currents,  that,  if  these  were  tt 
cease,  and  each  latitude  were  to  depend  exclusively  on  the  heat  re 
ceived  directly  from  the  sun,  only  a  small  portion  of  the  gloix 
would  be  habitable  for  the  present  order  of  human  beings. 

In    the    northern    hemisphere  two    immense  oceans  extend 
from  the    Equator   to   the  north,    and  between   them   lie  two 
great  continents,  which  contain  by  far  the  larger  part   of  the 
inhabitants   of    the    earth.       Owing    to   the    earth's   spherical 
form,  too  much  sun  heat  is  received  at  the  Equator,  and  too 
little  in  high  latitudes,  to  make  the  earth  a  suitable  habita- 
tion for  the  human  race,  unless  there  existed    some    compen- 
sating influence.     The  ocean  alone  can  afford  this  compensa- 
tion ;  it  alone  can  convey  heat  in  its  bosom  to  distant  shores. 
To  the  winds  belongs  the  task  of  distributing  it     They  chsig^ 
themselves  with  warmth  and  moisture  by  contact  with  the  sea, 
and  convey  them  in  the  form  of  mist  and  rain  over  the  surface 
of  the  land.    Upon  this  twofold  arrangement  depends  the  thermal 
condition  of  the  earth. 

There  is  a  difference  of  about  80^  between  the  mean  tempci** 

ture  of  the  Equator  and  the  Poles.     The  mean  temperature  of 

the  Equator  is  about  80°,  and  that  of  the  Pole  a  little  more  tbao 

2^  Fahrenheit     But,  were  each  part  of  the  globe's  surface  to 

depend  only  upon  the  direct  heat  which  it  receives  from  the 

sun,  there  ought  to  be  a  difference  of  more  than  200^    Tt* 

annual  quantity  of  heat   received   at   the   Equator   is  to  that 

received  at  the  Pole  as  12  to  5.     It  is  the  office  of  the  oceao 

to 


i(? 


oftlie  Arctic  Expedition.  165 

to  reduce  this  great  discrepancy  within  limits  compatible  with 

human  existence.     If  no  warm  water  were  conveyed  from  the 

£lqiiator  to  the  Pole,  the  temperature  of  the  Equator  would  rise, 

^.nd  that  of  the  Pole  would  sink.     Taking  the  temperature  of 

stellar  space  as  the  standard  of  comparison,  the  Equator  would 

Ix  135°  above  and  the  Pole  83°  below  zero  of  Fahrenheit.* 

'Xlie  Equator  would  therefore  be  55°  warmer  than  at  present,  and 

^lie  Pole  83°  colder,  a  condition  of  affairs  under  which,  it  is 

olrioos,  no  human  beings  could  live.     Assuming  for  a  moment 

^.liat  the  warm  water  which  produces  this  equalising  effect  is  the 

^^ulf  Stream,  it  would  follow  that  the  stoppage  of  that  stream 


'^^ould  reduce  the  temperature   of  London  to   something  very 

little  higher  than  that  which  now  exists  at  the  Pole,  and  that 

^fcoQt  40°  represents  the  actual  rise  at  London  due  to  the  influ- 

^xice  of  the  Gulf  Stream.     If  this  be  true,  it  is  evident  that  to 

^^^a  in  England  the  Gulf  Stream  makes  all  the  difference  between 

^    moderate  and  an  absolutely  uninhabitable  abode.     But  is  it 

"^lie  Gulf  Stream  which  passes  into  the  Polar  regions  ?     Are  the 

round  Greenland  and  Spitzbergen  heated  by  its  warmth  ? 

glance  at  the  map  will  show  that  the  Polar  ice-sea,  enormous 

extent  though  it  be,  is  land-locked,  and  communicates  with 

^Hc  other  oceans  of  the  globe  only  through  three  openings,  two 

^i"  which  hardly  exceed  the  size  of  large  rivers,  while  even  the 

^hird  is   of   no  very    great   extent ;    these  three  openings  are 

"ehring  Strait,  Smith  Sound,  and  the  Greenland  Sea.    A  strong 

current  sets  from  the  Pole  to  the  southward  through  each  of 

^hese  channels.     It  is  plain  that  the  water  of  these  currents  is 

*^ot  composed  of  melting  ice,  for,  if  it  were,  the  Pole  would  soon 

^  free  from  obstruction.    Whence  then  does  it  come  ?    So  large 

*  quantity  of  cold  water  constantly  flowing  from  the  Polar  re- 

Kiotis  into  the  Atlantic  makes  it  certain  that  an  equal  mass  flows 

^  from  south  to  north  ;  and  if  we  look  at  the  map,  it  is  hard  to 

^ist  the  conviction  that  this  must  be  the  Gulf  Stream.     Behring 

^Wt,  the  only  opening  from  the  Polar  region  to  the  Pacific,  is 

^  shallow  to  admit  of  the  passage  of  any  considerable  warm 

f^i^eam  as  under  current.    It  is  nowhere  more  than  thirty  fathoms 

**^  depth,  and  the  greater  part  of  that  depth  is  occupied  by  a 

^Id  southerly  current  which  runs  through  it  from  the  Pole. 

^^  the  possibility  of  the  Gulf  Stream  finding  its  way  into  the 

*^lAr  Sea  must  depend  on  Greenland  being  an  island.     If,  as 

*^»  Petermann,  the  German  geographer,  who  bore  the  principal 

.    ^6  temperatnre  of  stellar  space  is  239°;    when  therefore  the  proportion 
tj^  S  between  the  Equator  and  the  Pole  is  reached,  the  Equator  will  be  374° 
^  the  Pole  156°  above  that  of  stellar  space ;  that  is,  the  Equator  would  be 
+135»  Pahtenheit,  and  the  Pole  -  83°. 


166  Geographical  arid  Scientific  Results 

part  in  fitting   out  the  last  German  expedition,  still 
Greenland  stretches  away  across  the  Pole  in  the  direction 
Behring  Strait,  some  other  theory  must  be  devised  to  accc 
for  the  known   facts,  and  this  is  why  it  was  hoped  that 
George  Nares'  expedition  would  have  set  this  question  at  rei 

As  soon  as  the  ships  were  fairly  frozen  in,  they  began  to  ] 
pare  for  the  long  winter.  A  few  preliminary  trials  were  m 
with  the  sledges,  and  some  depots  of  provisions  were  placec 
readiness  for  the  spring  operations,  but  the  travelling  pax 
were  soon  recalled,  and  all  hands  set  to  work  to  organise 
routine  of  work  and  amusements  which  were  to  keep  up 
spirits  and  consequently  the  health  of  the  men  during  142  d 
of  darkness. 

It  was  during  this  time  that  the  scientific  officers  devoted  tl 
attention  to  the  work  of  their  observatories.  Those  of 
^  Alert '  were  a  large  and  lofty  series  of  snow  houses,  connec 
together  by  a  snow  gallery.  Here  magnetic  observations  n 
taken,  the  general  result  of  which  is  understood  to  confirm  tb 
of  which  the  scientific  world  are  already  possessed  ;  but  as  t 
are  not  yet  published,  we  pan  only  speak  of  them  in  very  gen 
terms.  The  same  remark  applies  to  the  meteorological,  as 
nomical,  and  polariscope  observations,  and  to  those  made  v 
the  spectroscope  and  electrometer. 

A  similar  observatory  was  constructed  at  Discovery  I 
and  there  the  same  scientific  routine  was  pursued  as  in 
northern  ship.  Captain  Stephenson,  moreover,  had  an  op; 
tunity  which  Nares  had  not,  of  making  a  series  of  very  v 
able  tidal  observations.  On  one  point  only  was  there  * 
notable  failure ;  and  that  was  one  to  which  we  look  i 
considerable  regret,  though  it  was  caused  by  meteorolog 
and  other  physical  difficulties  with  which  it  was  imposs 
to  cope.  It  was  found  impossible  to  use  the  pendulum 
determining  the  exact  value  of  gravitation  at  the  Pole, 
the  consequent  perfecting  of  our  knowledge  of  the  shape  of 
earth.  There  are  two  reasons  why  the  Pole  should  be  sele 
as  I  the  scene  of  such  experiments,  viz.  that  there  gravita 
is  at  its  maximum,  and  the  counteracting  centrifugal  foro 
its  minimum.  Gravitation  is  greatest  at  the  Pole  because 
Equatorial  diameter  of  the  earth  is  somewhat  in  excess  of 
Polar  diameter,  and  the  compressed  portion  of  a  spheroid  atti 
a  body  on  its  surface  more  powerfully  than  the  more  cor 
portion,  being  more  compact  in  mass,  and  the  active  forces 
lectively  nearer  the  surface.  Centrifugal  force  is  insensi 
because,  as  one  may  easily  see  by  whirling  a  weight  at  the 
of  a  string,  centrifugal  force    is    proportionate  to  rapiditj 

rotati 


of  the  Arctic  Expedition.  167 

rotation ;  and  as  there  is  no  rotation  whatever  at  the  Poles  of  the 
earth,  gravitation  is  there  entirely  unopposed  by  centrifugal 
force. 

At  the  Equator  the  rotation  is  very  rapid  ;  and  gravitation^ 
riolently  opposed  by  centrifugal  force,  is  at  its  minimum.  It 
follows  that  gravitation  increases  from  the  Equator  to  tlie  Pole 
in  a  certain  definite  proportion  ;  a  body  which  weighs  195  lbs. 
at  the  Ekjuator  weighs  194  lbs.  at  the  Pole  ;  this  proportion  finds 
mathematical  expression  in  the  statement,  that  the  element  of 
grayitj,  due  to  centrifugal  force,  varies  everywhere  as  the  square 
of  the  cosine  of  the  latitude.  Now,  a  pendulum  swinging  freely 
backwards  and  forwards  is  impelled  by  gravity  alone,  and  as 
the  time  which  a  weight  would  take  to  fall  through  a  space 
equal  to  the  length  of  the  pendulum  bears  a  certain  known  pro- 
portion to  its  time  of  oscillation,  we  are  enabled,  by  observing 
the  rate  of  the  oscillations  of  a  pendulum  of  known  length,  to 
deduce  from  it  what  length  of  pendulum  would  in  that  place 
beat  exact  seconds,  and  consequently  how  far  a  body  would  fall 
in  a  second — in  other  words,  the  force  of  gpravitation  at  that 
place.* 

A  pendulum  which  beats  seconds  in  London  is  too  slow  at 
^  Equator,  and  requires  to  be  shortened.  This  is  easy  to 
understand  when  we  know  that  gravity  decreases  towards  the 
Equator.  Experiments  have  been  made  with  the  pendulum  in 
*ll  parts  of  the  world.  Sir  Edward  Sabine  carried  it  from  the 
Equator  to  Spitzbergen,  and  it  was  hoped  that  the  present  expe- 
dition would  give  us  the  results  of  observations  taken  at  the 
Pole  itself.  AH  preparations  were  made  for  that  purpose,  but 
the  severity  of  the  climate  proved  too  much  for  the  clock- 
work. It  was  not  till  after  several  attempts  that  the  idea 
Was  finally  abandoned.  Captain  Stephenson  writes  in  March 
1876 : — 

'  Commander  Beaumont  had  everything  ready  for  observations  with 
^  pendulum  at  the  beginning  of  this  month,  being  in  hopes  a  milder 
*^peratnre  would  have  allowed  the  clock  to  go,  but  the  very  severe 
Weather  frustrated  bis  expectations.  This  being  the  last  month  the 
dock  can  be  rated  by  the  transit  of  stars,  having  now  perpetual 
daylight,  he  was  prepared  to  make  a  great  effort.  It  remains  to  be 
Proved  whether  the  observations  can  be  carried  out  with  sufficient 
•ccuracy  by  means  of  the  sun  alone.     If  this  is  not  successful,  the 

• 

(1.)  The  OBcOlatioiis  of  a  pendulum  in  Bmall  arcs  are  all  made  in  equal  times. 
(2.)  The  time  of  oscillation  is  proportionate  to  the  length  of  the  pendulum. 
(3.)  The  time  of  oscillation  is  to  the  time  in  wliicli  a  body  would  fall  from  a 

state  of  rest  down  the  length  of  the  pendulum  as  the  periphery  of  a 

circle  to  its  diameter. 

only 


168  Geoff raphical  and  Scientijic  Results 

onlj  otber  opportunity  would  be  in  tho  autumn,  duiing  tlio  few  dajji 
between  the  re-appearanco  of  the  stars  and  tho  advent  of  a  tempo 
rature  that  would  stop  the  clock,  stars  of  tho  first  magnitude  beiii^ 
yisiblo  at  night  during  the  first  week  in  October.*  * 

But  it  was  not  to  be.  The  machinery  of  the  clocks  employe^ 
would  not  stand  the  severe  cold ;  the  oil  froze  in  the  work  s 
and  they  would  not  go  at  all.  It  will  easily  be  understood 
that  observations  on  the  length  of  a  second  must  be  conducte* 
with  minute  accuracy  to  be  of  any  value,  and  under  the  circuoa 
stances  this  was  not  attainable. 

The  collective  indications  of  observ^ations  already  mad 
clearly  show  the  general  accuracy  of  the  law  deduced  froi 
theory  as  to  the  increase  of  gravity  as  the  Pole  is  approached, 
but  there  are  so  many  disturbing  causes,  owing  to  irregulariuc 
in  the  shape  of  the  earth's  surface  that  it  is  impossible  t 
project  from  observations  made  in  different  parts  of  the  eart 
such  a  curve  as  will  harmonise  them  all.  It  is  tolerably  certai 
that  the  general  result  already  arrived  at  will  not  be  disturbe 
by  any  future  operations.  The  earth  is  known  to  be  a  sligbti 
oblate  spheroid,  and  any  correction  of  its  form  as  now  assume 
will  probably  be  very  minute,  and  will  be  useful  only  in  math' 
matical  calculation  of  the  highest  refinement.  We  may  therefor 
easily  console  ourselves  for  the  failure  of  Commander  Be^i 
mont's  attempt. 

While  we  are  on  the  subject  of  clocks,  we  may  remark 
curious  circumstance,  which  was  not  expected.  It  was  sU] 
posed  that  chronometers  would  not,  in  the  severe  cold  of  tl 
Arctic  Circle,  keep  their  rates  with  sufficient  accuracy  to  enal^ 
the  longitude  to  be  determined  by  their  means  alone.  ^ 
pointed  out  in  a  recent  number  of  this  '  Review  *t  that  the  dtf 
culty  of  trusting  to  chronometers  for  longitude  in  our  Arc* 
expedition  would  arise  from  the  circumstance  that,  in  ^ 
probability,  the  expedition  would  arrive  at  its  extreme  poi^ 
where  it  would  be  locked  fast  for  a  time,  some  months  aft 
leaving  the  last  known  point  of  well-defined  longitude,  a< 
therefore  it  was  impossible  to  predict  how  the  rates  of  tl 
chronometers  might  be  affected  during  those  months. 

This  result  would  arise  not  only  from  the  lapse  of  time,  l^' 
from  a  chronometrical  fact  which  has  not  yet  been  brought  und- 
control,  namely,  that  when  the  temperature  is  at  or  abcr 
freezing-point,  the  rates  of  chronometers  become  unmanageabl 
No  form  of  compensation  hitherto  tried  has  been  able  to  corr^ 
this  defect.     The  object  of  *  compensation '  is  to  produce  urJ 

♦  'Report,*  p.  9,  aect.  110.  t  *  Quarterly  Review/  No.  281,  p.  164. 

fonni'' 


of  the  Arctic  Expediti07i.  169 

fonnitj  of  rate  in  spite  of  difference  of  temperature.     This  is 

[       paniailj, '  but   only   partially,    effected  by    the   application    of 

weights  to  the  balance ;  it  is  a  process  slow  and  costly,   and, 

moreover,  cannot  be  applied  in  such  a  manner  as  to  meet  all 

circtimstances.     The  difference  of  force  in  a  spring  proceeds 

uniformly  in  proportion  to  the  increase  of  heat,  and  may  be 

C^phically  represented  by  a  straight  line  inclined,  at  some  angle, 

t€  another  straight  line,  which  is  divided  to  represent  degrees 

of  temperature.     But  the  inertia  of  a  compound  balance  cannot 

be  made  to  decrease  quite  so  rapidly  as  the  heat  increases  ;  and 

tlwrefore  its   rate  of  variation  can  only  be  represented   by  a 

ennre,  which  will  only  coincide  with  the  straight  line  repre- 

scnting  the  variation  of  force   in    the   spring   at   two   points. 

In  other  words,  the  compensation  can  only  be  exact  for  some 

two  temperatures  for  which  you  may  choose  to  adjust  it.     But 

this  anticipated  wildness  in  the  rates  of  the  chronometers  did  not 

take  place  to  the  extent  expected  in  the  case  of  the  recent  expe- 

^tion.     Owing  to  care  and  skill,  they  were  able  to  keep  their 

^chronometers  at  a  temperature  so  nearly  even  that,  although  by 

no  means  free  from  variation,  they  did  not  become  unreliable. 

C^tain  Stephenson  tells  us*  that  during  tlie  winter  fifty  sets  of 

loiian  were  observed,  sixteen  of  which,  up  to  the  date  of  March 

^876,  were  calculated.    The  mean  of  all  gave  a  longitude  which 

*<*orded  with   the  longitude  deduced   from  the  chronometers 

Within  thirty  seconds  of  time.   Commander  Beaumont  ascertained 

^  rates  of  the  chronometers  from  time  to  time  by  means  of  the 

^'ansit  instruments.     A  variation  in  their  rates  was  observed, 

following  the  changes  of  temperature  during  the  winter  ;  but 

Notwithstanding  this,  and  the  frequent  concussion  experienced 

Tjthe  ship  in  working  through  the  ice,  Captain   Stephenson 

J^arked  with  some  surprise  how  nearly  the  results  deduced 

^m  the  lunars  accorded  with  those  of  the  accumulated  rates. 

The  sun  re-appeared  on  the  1st  of  March,  and  the  explorers 

^€re  almost  immediately  on  foot.     By  the  end  of  the  month  all 

^^  pioneer  expeditions  had  done  their  work,  and  on  the  3rd  of 

"^pril  the  long  journey  sledges  took  their  departure.     Three 

w^^ks  later,  when  Stephenson,  after  despatching  his  own  parties, 

^^t  up  to  the  *  Alert'  to  confer  with  Nares,  none  but  a  few 

^cers,  who  had  returned  from  pioneer  sledging  journeys,  and 

T^*^e   invalids,  were  left  on  board  the  ships.      The   northern 

i^^ion  under  Markham  and  Parr  were  off  in  the   direction 

J*  the  Pole ;  Aldrich  was  surveying  Grinnell  Land  to  the  west ; 

^^Wson  and  Egerton  were  away  laying  a  depot  on  the  north 

♦  •  Report,'  sect  112. 

shore 


170  Geographical  and  Scientific  Results 

shore  of  Greenland ;  Beaumont  had  started  with  heavier  sledge 
in  their  track ;  surveying  parties  were  away  from  the  *  Discoyery 
laying  down  Lady  Franklin  Sound  and  Petermann  Fiord;  th( 
naturalists,  hunters,  explorers,  an^  photographers,  were  busy  ii 
their  several  avocations.  Every  one  was  taking  advantage  witi 
feverish  eagerness  of  the  short  interval  of  summer. 

Nearly  opposite  to  the  spot  where  the  *Discx)very*  passec 
the  winter  were  the  winter  quarters  of  the  American  exploiinj 
expedition,  commanded  by  Hall  in  the  year  1872.  Polaris  3ay 
as  it  is  called,  lay  just  across  Robeson  Channel,  and  a  con' 
siderable  quantity  of  stores  had  been  left  there  by  the  Americans 
and  were  now  at  the  disposal  of  Beaumont  for  his  Greenlanc 
exploration.  The  *  Polaris '  expedition  had  found  that,  in  1872, 
the  ice  broke  up  in  Robeson  Channel  in  the  month  of  May. 
Beaumont  was  not  to  return  till  June  15  ;  it  was,  therefore^ 
necessary  to  provide  some  means  for  him  to  cross  the  strait  ic 
case  he  should  arrive  on  its  shores  after  the  ice  had  begun  tc 
move.  Captain  Stephenson  determined  to  have  a  boat  coa* 
veyed  across  the  ice  to  the  *  Polaris '  depot,  there  to  await  tlk4 
return  of  the  explorers,  and  a  party  started  with  that  end  ii 
view.  Captain  Stephenson  followed  with  light  sledges,  aA< 
overtook  them  at  Hall's  Rest. 

The  object  of  Captain  Stephenson's  personal  presence  on  tks 
occasion  may  be  gathered  from  the  following  extract : — 

<  On  the  following  day,  the  American  flag  being  hoisted,  a  bm 
tablet  prepared  in  England  was  erected  at  the  foot  of  Captain  HftU 
grave  with  due  solemnity.     It  bore  the  following  inscription  : — 

'  Sacred 

to  the  Memory  of 

Captain  C.  F.  Hall, 

of  the  U.S.  Ship  «  Polaris," 

who  sacrificed  his  Life 

in  the  advancement  of  Science, 

on  the  8th  November,  1871. 

'  This  Tablet  has  been  erected  by  the  British  Polar  Ezpeditios^ 
1875,  who,  following  in  his  footsteps,  have  profited  by  his  experiex^^ 

Captain  Hall,  of  the  'Polaris,'  was  a  man  of  iron  fxB^ 
and  great  personal  courage.  He  had  prepared  himself  for  * 
work  before  him  by  long  residence  among  the  Esquimaux.  ^ 
learned  their  language  and  adopted  their  habits,  in  a  way  ^l 
might,  perhaps,  have  been  found  impossible  by  a  man  of  ir»^ 
delicate  nurture.  As  his  friend  and  biographer  says,  ^  ^ 
learned  to  like  the  repulsive  food  the  Esquimaux  lived  O^ 
fasting,  when  it  was  scarce,  with  the  sang-froid  of  one  "to  * 

maO' 


of  the  Arctic  Expeditiofu  171 

manner  bom/'  and  relishing  the  blubber,  when  it  came,  with 
the  best  of  them.'  He  was  stoutly  and  very  powerfully  built, 
and,  according  to  the  portraits  we  have  seen  of  him,  his  features 
were  as  rugged  as  his  heart  was  kindly.  He  had  not  the  advan- 
tage of  a  liberal  education,  but  he  was,  though  not  a  seaman 
bj  profession,  an  expert  navigator,  and  was  remarkable  for  the 
neatness  and  precision  of  his  astronomical  observations.  The 
main  fault  in  his  character,  and,  in  fact,  the  one  which  at  last 
endangered  the  safety  of  his  expedition,  is  thus  dealt  with  by 
no  unfriendly  hand : — 

'  The  extent  to  which  he  was  able  to  overlook  the  insolence  and 
impertinence  of  those  who  owed  him  duty  and  allegiance  is  something 
loarrelloiis  to  consider.  Indeed,  he  carried  this  too  iBX,  EEad  he  dealt 
more  sternly  with  the  beginnings  of  insubordination,  we  might  have 
W  a  fiEir  different  story  to  tell ;  but  every  other  feeling  and  senti- 
ment were  swallowed  up  in  the  absorbing  desire  to  get  north.' 

It  is,  indeed,  impossible  now  to  know  what  would  have  been 

the  result  if  Hall  had  been  able  to  impress  his  own  strong  hopes 

^d  belief  on  those  who  composed  his  expedition.     Immediately 

*fter  his  death  they  broke  up  into  parties  without  union   or 

^hesion,  animated,  as   it  would    seem,   by    an    overmastering 

desire  to  return  home.    Upon  the  details  of  the  disintegration  of 

^e  expedition,  and  the  miserable  accusations  and  recriminations 

^hich  followed  it,  we  have  no  intention  of  dwelling ;  the  whole 

Matter  has  been  subjected  to  searching  examination  in  America, 

^'Jd  we  only  allude  to  it  in  order  to  record  the  deliberate  opinion 

^*  the  naval  court  which  examined  the  survivors  of  the  expe- 

^tion.     The  worst  accusation,  and  one  which,  it  would  seem, 

P<>or  Hall  himself  believed  in,   was  that   he   died   by  poison 

administered  by  his  own  people.     This  the  court  emphatically 

ejected  as  untrue. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  English  expedition  was  sent 
^o  Smith  Sound  partly  in  reliance  on  alleged  discoveries  of  land 
^^aching  far  above  83^  in  the  direction  of  the  Pole  ;  and  it  will 
hardly  be  wrong  to  assume  that,  if  the  land  laid  down  on  the 
American  chart  had  really  existed.  Sir  George  Nares'  expedi- 
tion would  have  had  a  more  successful  result.     But  it  is  worth 
^hile  to  inquire   to  what   extent  the   discoveries   inserted    in 
American   charts,   on   the    alleged    authority    of  the   *  Polaris ' 
^pedition,  are  really  founded  on  claims  made  by  them.     No 
*^ch  claims,  certainly,  were  ever  made  by  poor  Hall  himself. 
*»ie  geographical  determinations  made  by  him  are  singularly 
^thful  and  accurate ;    and  it  is  but  an  act  of  duty  to  acquit 
one  who  is  no  longer  here  to  speak  for  himself,  of  misleading 
^  in  a  matter  for  which,  as  leader  of  the  party,  he  is  naturally 

held 


172  Geographical  and  Scientific  Results 

held  responsible.  The  reader  will  see  by  the  annexed  map 
what  were  the  claims  made  on  behalf  of  the  American  expe- 
dition, and  what  has  now  been  found  to  be  the  actual  state  of  the 
case.  In  one,  the  land  is  made  to  trend  upwards  on  the  west 
side  of  Robeson  Channel,  nearly  up  to  the  eighty-fourth  parallel. 
Due  north,  running  east  and  west  across  the  entrance  to  the 
sound,  lies  land  in  a  still  higher  latitude,  to  which  the  name 
of  President's  L^nd  has  been  given ;  and  away  to  the  north-east, . 
and  forming  the  supposed  continuation  of  the  eastern  shore  of 
Robeson  Channel,  are  marked  capes  and  headlands,  to  which 
American  names  have  been  assigned.  All  these  fiords,  bays, 
capes,  and  sounds  have  appeared  in  the  official  charts  of  the 
American  Admiralty,  and  were  thence  transferred  to  our  own ; 
but  it  now  seems  that  they  must  be  altogether  erased.  A 
note  appears  on  the  American  chart,  saying  that,  the  original 
documents  having  been  lost,  the  coast-line  has  been  laid  down 
according  to  the  recollection  of  the  officers  and  men  composing 
the  expedition.  It  may  be  so ;  but  the  information  was  not 
given  by  any  of  the  recognised  leaders.  Hall,  as  we  see  on  the 
face  of  the  chart,  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter.  With 
regard  to  the  officers  composing  the  expedition,  we  find  that 
they  say  almost  as  little  as  their  commander.  Their  evidence  is 
contained  in  the  official  report  to  the  President  of  the  United 
States,  by  the  Secretary  of  the  Navy,  on  the  loss  of  the 
*  Polaris,*  which  is  now  before  us. 

The  scientific  officer  of  the  expedition,  who  was  sent  out  by 
the  American  authorities  to  be  responsible  for  such  like  matters, 
was  Dr.  Meyer.  That  officer's  draft  chart  is  prefixed  to  the 
official  report,  and  contains  no  names,  nor  anything  north  of 
Cape  Union  (which  cape,  though  placed  too  far  to  the  north  on 
the  American  chart,  was  seen  by  the  '  Polaris '  expedition),  but 
a  dotted  line  alone  indicates  what,  in  his  opinion,  was  the 
probable  direction  of  the  coast.  At  the  close  of  his  evidence, 
Dr.  Meyer  said,  in  answer  to  a  question,  *  I  believe  I  surveyed 
the  coast  a  little  above  84°  on  the  west  coast ;  on  the  east  coast, 
about  82°  30'.'  This  is  the  sole  remark,  so  far  as  we  can 
learn  from  the  official  report,  on  which  the  American  hydro- 
graphers  can  have  founded  their  work.  The  leader  is  silent 
The  scientific  officer  sends  in  a  sketch,  truly  representing  what 
he  thought  he  saw.  Who  then  invented  the  elaborate  series  of 
bays,  sounds,  and  headlands,  eighteen  or  twenty  in  number? 
and  who  gave  to  these  imaginary  localities  the  names  by  which 
they  are  marked  on  the  official  chart?  It  is  as  great  a  crime 
against  the  unwritten  law  of  nations  to  publish  false  charts 
as  it  is   to  exhibit  false  li6:hts  to  lure  vessels  to  destruction. 

We 


of  the  Arctic  Expedition.  173 

e  know  what  was  the  claim  put  forth  in  the  modest  American 
lit  when  it  left  the  hands  of  those  who  did  the  work  and 
)orted  the  results.  To  whose  credulity,  or  imagination,  does 
owe  its  subsequent  completed  form  ? 

The  chart  requires  other  corrections,  different  however  both 
degree  and  kind.  It  is  only  natural  that  the  early  surveys 
Hayes  and  Kane  should  require  considerable  correction ; 
t  they  were  certainly  both  to  blame  in  altering  surveys  origi- 
IIj  made  by  Admiral  Inglefield  without  sufficient  cause.  For 
stance,  to  quote  Captain  Nares  : — 

'The  two  islands  marked  on  the  chart  on  the  authority  of  Dr. 
lyes  as  existing  in  the  entrance  of  Hayes  Sound  are,  as  originally 
presented  by  Admiral  Inglefield,  in  reality  joined.  The  three  capes 
med  by  the  latter,  north  of  Cape  Sabine,  are  very  prominent  h^d- 
ids,  and  readily  sighted  from  a  ship's  deck  from  any  position  north 
Littleton  Island.  There  is  no  sign  of  an  inlet  along  the  very 
ghtly  indented  coast  line  between  his  Cape  Camperdown  and  Cape 
bert.  His  Princess  Marie  Bay  is  the  inlet  north  of  the  land  in  the 
ddlo  of  the  sound,  but  whether  that  be  an  island  or  a  peninsula 
naioB  to  be  determined ;  and  his  Cape  Victoria  is  evidently  one  'of 
)  headlands  on  the  present  Grinnell  Land.  It  is  necessarily  an 
thankful  office  to  find  fault  with  our  predecessors ;  but  navigators 
mot  be  too  careful  how  they  remove  from  the  chart  names  given  by 
)  original  discoverers,  merely  because  during  a  gale  of  wind  a 
iriug  or  an  estimated  distance  is  a- trifle  wrong;  and  when  the 
erector  or  improver  is  also  himself  considerably  wrong,  and  in  fact 
iduces  a  more  unreliable  chart  than  the  first  one,  he  deserves  blame. 
'e  names  given  to  the  headlands  undoubtedly  discovered  by  Admiral 
glefield  ^ould  not  have  been  altered  by  Drs.  Eane  and  Hayes, 
^  of  whom  published  very  misleading  delineations  of  the  same 
«t.* 

The  whole  body  of  the  land  on  the  west  side  of  Robeson 
lannel  also  requires  to  be  rectified.  It  can  be  no  pleasure 
find  fault  with  explorers  so  intrepid  and  conscientious  as 
^jes  and  Kane,  both  of  whom  have  done  much  to  cement 
It  good  feeling  between  England  and  America  which  com- 
inity  of  object  and  enterprise  has  so  great  a  tendency  to 
ure.  Moreover,  when  mistakes  arise,  the  circumstances  of 
ctic  surveying,  with  its  inevitable  concomitants  of  freezing 
^rs,  and  object-glasses  clouded  with  rapidly  congealing 
St,  must  always  be  taken  into  account.     The  approach  of 

eye  to  an  eye-piece  is  sufficient  to  cloud  it ;   and  he  must 

almost   more   than   human  who   does  not  jump   somewhat 

>tily  at  an  angle  or  an  altitude  when  a  mitten  removed  means 

at-bitten  fingers,  and  it  is  almost  as  difficult  to  read  off  the 

on  a  sextant  as  to  work  out  the  observation  when  the  data 

are 


174  Geographical  and  Scientific  Residts 

are  secured.  There  was  on  the  part  of  Nares  no  anxiel 
upset  the  allegations  of  the  American  chart.  As  an  offia 
the  expedition  naively  remarked  to  us,  *  We  did  not  go  to 
holes  in  the  results  of  our  predecessors,  but  to  establish  aca 
positions  ourselves.'  A  keen  observer  of  the  corrected  En{ 
chart  will  often  find  evidences  of  the  kindly  care  with  w 
former  mistakes  have  been  shielded.  Wherever  an  erron 
determination  has  been  made  by  a  predecessor,  the  name  aln 
given  has,  if  possible,  been  attached  to  the  latitude  and  lo 
tude  appropriated  to  it,  while  the  point  which  was  the  orig 
recipient  of  the  name  receives  along  with  its  correct  defini 
in  latitude  and  longitude  another  designation*  These  1 
courtesies  are  pleasing  to  observe,  especially  as  they  are 
universal.  But  although  it  is  a  thankless  task  to  corred 
venial  mistakes  of  gallant  men  like  Kane  and  Hayes,  who  ri 
their  lives  to  obtain  the  positions  they  set  down,  it  is  difficu 
look  with  equal  equanimity  on  the  claims  put  forth  by  c 
men  comfortably  seated  at  home,  especially  when  the  inevit 
result  must  be  to  damage,  and  not  to  increase,  the  reputatioi 
those  whose  explorations  they  pretend  to  embody.  We  are  i 
distinctly  conscious  of  such  a  feeling  when,  as  we  have  sho'H 
be  the  case  with  reference  to  the  capes  and  bays  north  of  ( 
Union,  the  surveyors  make  no  such  claim  for  themselves  i 
made  in  their  name. 

While  the  sledging  parties  were  away,  Mr.  Hart,  natur 
of  the  '  Discovery,'  found  coal  near  the  winter  quarters  of 
ship.  To  our  minds  this  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  rei 
of  the  expedition.  It  opens  out  a  whole  range  of  speculat 
as  to  cosmical  phenomena  of  the  most  primary  importa 
Coal  is  but  the  accumulated  decay  of  a  luxuriant  vegetal 
which  demanded  a  long  period  of  warmth  and  moisi 
differing  in  the  widest  degree  from  the  climatic  conditio) 
the  Pole  at  the  present  time.  It  has  been  long  known  thai 
northern  part  of  the  Parry  Islands  abounded  with  carbonife 
rocks,  and  coal  has  been  found  and  worked  to  a  consider 
extent  in  Greenland,  but  now  we  know  that  it  extends  almo 
the  Pole  itself.  It  is,  therefore,  no  matter  of  conjecture,  bi 
certainty,  that  a  luxuriant  vegetation  and  considerable 
existed  where  we  now  find  only  the  accumulated  ice  of  ages, 

It  is  the  generally  received  opinion  both  among  geoloj 
and  botanists  that  the  flora  of  the  coal  period  does  not  indi 
the  existence  of  a  tropical,  but  of  a  moist  and  equable,  clin 
Tree  ferns  range  as  far  south  as  New  Zealand,  and  araucai 
pines  occur  in  Norfolk  Island.  A  great  preponderance  of  i 
and  lycopodiums,  says  Sir  Charles  Lyell,  indicates  moisi 

equab 


of  the  Arctic  Expedition.  175 

eqnabilitj  of  temperature,  and  freedom  from  frost,  rather  than 
intense  heat.  The  atmosphere  during  the  coal  period  probably 
reKmbled  the  climate  which  we  endeavour  artificially  to  repre- 
sent in  our  hot-houses.  But  it  is  not  sufficient  for  the  pro- 
daction  of  coal  that  there  should  be  a  climate  suitable  to  the 
growth  of  a  luxuriant  vegetation.  It  is  almost  equally  essential 
that  immediately  after  the  decay  of  such  vegetation  it  should  be 
preserved  by  being  covered  over  by  a  thick  deposit  of  sand, 
mud,  or  clay.  For  this  end  it  was  necessary  that  the  area  on 
which  the  plants  grew  should  be  submerged,  and  that  in  a  cold 
rather  than  in  a  warm  sea. 

The  generally  admitted  theory  of  coal  formation  is  this,  that 
the  coal  trees  grew  near  broad  estuaries  and  on  immense  plains 
but  little  elevated  above  the  sea-level ;  that  after  the  growth  of 
manj  generations  of  trees  the  plain  was  submerged  under  the 
sea,  and  in  process  of  time  covered  over  with  sand,  gravel,  and 
sediments  carried  down  by  the  streams  from  the  adjoining  land  ; 
that  the  submerged  plain  afterwards  became  again  elevated 
aboTe  the  sea-level,  and  formed  the  site  of  a  second  forest  which 
after  the  lapse  of  long  centuries  was  again  submerged.  The 
alternate  process  of  submergence  and  emergence  went  on  till  we 
have  a  succession  of  buried  forests  with  immense  stratified 
deposits  between,  which  ultimately  become  converted  into  beds 
of  coal. 

Oscillation  of  the  land,  so  often  repeated,  has  been  the 
wonder  and  despair  of  geologists ;  for  any  theory  which  pre- 
tended to  account  for  the  presence  of  coal — in  Greenland, 
for  instance,  or  at  the  Pole — was  bound  as  a  condition  of 
access  to  account  not  only  for  alternations  of  climate  in  the  icy 
region  of  the  north,  in  itself  a  formidable  problem,  but  for  the 
oscillation  of  the  land  alternately  below  and  above  the  sea^level 
as  many  times  as  there  were  thicknesses  or  seams  in  the  coal, 
for  evidently  during  the  formation  of  each  seam  the  land  must 
pave  been  alternately  once  submerged  and  once  elevated.  This, 
^  fact,  was  one  of  the  unsolved  problems  of  geology  ;  it  was 
long  suspected  that  its  final  solution  must  be  referred  to  the 
**^nomer,  but  unluckily  the  great  masters  of  that  science  at  the 
beginning  of  the  present  century  darkened  counsel  by  rejecting, 
on  what  now  appears  to  be  insufficient  grounds,  the  explana- 
tion that  lay  ready  to  their  hands.  There  are  only  two  astro- 
nomical causes  which  could  be  supposed  to  materially  affect  the 
climate  of  the  earth.  One  was  a  change  in  the  obliquity  of  the 
^ptic,  and  the  other  a  change  in  the  earth's  orbit  Laplace 
^culated  the  possible  variation  of  obliquity  of  the  ecliptic, 
^d  pronounced  it  so  insignificant  as  to  cause  little  effect  on 

climate 


176 


Geographical  and  Scientific  Results 


climate  in  general,  and,  afortiorij  to  have  had  no  effect  whatere 
on  the  climate  of  the  Pole.  He  also,  after  calculating  the  ez 
treme  limit  of  variation  in  the  form  of  the  earth's  orbit,  agieo 
with  Herschel,  Lagrange,  and  other  celebrated  men,  that  dii 
must  also  be  put  aside.  The  question  was  thenceforth  lookei 
upon  as  settled;  which  was  an  error,  for  they  decided,  a 
lawyers  are  supposed  to  decide,  not  on  the  merits  of  the  case 
but  on  the  case  as  submitted  to  them. 

We  lately  showed  in  this  ^  Review '  *  that  physical  causes  noi 
at  work  could  have  produced,  and  probably  did  produce,  tb 
alternate  and  repeated  submersion  and  emergence  of  the  eartfa 
We  will  now  try  whether,  by  similar  reasoning,  it  can  bi 
shown  how  alternate  climates  succeeded  each  other  at  the  Pok 
It  is  only  necessary  to  deal  with  one  Pole,  for  whateve 
happened  at  one  Pole,  the  same  phenomena  would  occur  ii 
each  instance  10,000  or  12,000  years  later  at  the  other.  Then 
is  a  slight  annual  change  in  what  is  called  the  longitude  of  tfaf 
perihelion ;  that  is,  the  earth  is  not  exactly  in  the  same  pail 
of  her  journey  round  the  sun,  at  the  time  of  the  equinox,  in 
successive  years.  The  consequence  follows,  that  in  process  d 
time  the  equinoctial  point  travels  right  round  the  orbit.t  Af 
the  path  of  the  earth  is  an  ellipse,  and  not  a  circle,  and  thf 
sun  occupies  one  of  the  foci,  the  earth  at  any  given  season  ia 
never  exactly  the  same  distance  from  the  sun  two  years  running 
The  position  of  the  earth  at  the  equinox,  or  at  the  solstice,  f<K 
example,  would  shift  right  round  the  orbit  in  20,000  yeaift 
so  that,  whatever  was  the  position  of  the  earth  in  summer,  sa^ 
in  the  Year  One,  by  the  Year  10,000  the  position  of  the  earth  ix 
summer  would  have  shifted  half  round  the  orbit,  and  would 
occupy  the  position  which  was  occupied  by  it  in  winter  in  the 
Year  One. 


*  '  Quarterly  Review/  No.  283,  p.  202. 

t  *Let  A  P  represent  the  major  axis  of  the  orbit  joiniDCf  the  aphdioa  ^ 

perihelioDy  and  m'  the  solfititial  points,  near  ^ 
preceding,  as  they  actually  are  at  present  ^ 
winter  solstice  (<)  moves  away  from  A  thron^^ 
but  so  slowly  as  to  advance  barely  a  degr^^ 
fifty-eight  years.  It  would  thus  require  2A° 
years  to  complete  its  course  to  A ;  but  in  the  is»^ 
time  the  latter  point  moves  away  from  «  in  ^ 
direction  of  e  still  more  slowly,  and  meets  it  a'C^  ^ 
so  that  the  time  required  for  a  revolution  o^  ^ 
solstice  <  from  aphelion  to  aphelion  is  thus  iwl^ 
to  20,984  vears.  The  equinoctial  line  EF,  mglP 
always  rignt  angles  with  m',  moves  with  the  k^^ 
its  motion  on  the  Equator  being  called  the  Jp 
cession  of  the  equinox.' — Coolejre  'Phyiioal  ^ 
graphy,'  p.  409. 


of  the  Arctic  Expedition.  177 

» 

If  the  North  Pole  were  subjected  to  any  given  combination 

•f  ciitomstances  in  the  Year  One,  the  South  Pole  would  be 

•objected  to  similar  conditions  about  10,000  years  later.     If, 

therefore,  we  can  discover   any  combination  of  circumstances 

which  at  a  particular  time  would  produce  a  condition  of  per- 

petoftl  ice  in  the  northern  hemisphere,  and  perpetual  summer 

in  the  southern,  we  may  be  sure  that  10,000  years  later  there 

will  be  perpetual  summer  in  the  north  and  perpetual  ice  in  the 

iOQth.    And  this  see-saw  would  continue  until,  in  the  course  of 

•get,  alteration  of  the  degree  of  eccentricity  of  the  earth's  orbit 

would  remove  the  inducing  cause.      Now,  there  was   such  a 

combination  of  .circumstances;  in  fact  there  have  been  several 

nch  combinations.     There  was  one  about  240,000  years  ago, 

ud  it  lasted  about  150,000  years.     During  the  whole  of  that 

time  the  changes  from  warm  to  cold  climate  every  10,000  or 

12,000  years  must  have  been  of  the  most  extreme  character. 

During  that  period  the  climate  of  the  Pole  probably  changed 

&t>m  the   extremity   of  heat  to   intensest   cold,   many   times. 

During  the  cold  periods,  the  weight  of  ice  on  the  glaciated 

bemisphere  would  displace,  were  it  but  two  or  three  hundred 

feet,  the   centre   of  gravity   of  the   earth ;    the   level   of  the 

<Hieao  would  change  to  accommodate  itself  to  the  new  centre 

^f  gravity,  and  there  would  be   a  submergence   of  the   land. 

%  degrees,  after  thousands  of  years,  the  ice  would  begin  to 

*^t,  and  form   on   the   other  hemisphere.      The   sea   would 

'^tam  to  its  former  level,  and  there  would  be  an  emergence 

of  the  land.     This  is  the  simple  explanation  of  that  emergence 

•*kI  subsidence   of  the   land,  within   comparatively  moderate 

periods,  which  have  appeared  to  geologists  to  demand  for  their 

^ox>niplishment  millions  upon  millions  of  ages. 

Bat  we  have  to  show  that  a  cause  has  actually  existed  which 
^ould  produce,  through  many  thousand  years,  perpetual  ice  in 
^Jie  hemisphere  and  contemporaneously  perpetual  summer  in 
the  other.  Astronomers  were  perfectly  right  in  saying  that  no 
change  which  is  astronomically  possible  in  the  eccentricity  of 
J*^  earth's  orbit  could  alone  produce  such  a  condition  of  things ; 
*^t  they  omitted  to  take  into  consideration  the  fact,  that,  though 
^hange  of  eccentricity  could  not  directly  cause  such  a  condition, 
Jt  might  bring  into  existence  causes  which,  operating  through 
*ong  periods  of  time,  would  indirectly  produce  it. 

The  earth's  orbit  approaches,  more  or  less,  nearly  to  a  circle. 
Abe  major  axis  never  changes ;  but  the  minor  axis  varies  so 
^*^  when  the  earth's  orbit  is  at  its  highest  eccentricity,  the 
^rth  is  roughly  fourteen  million  miles  further  from  the  sun  at 
aphelion  than  at  perihelion.  The  earth  moves  more  slowly  at 
Vol.  143.— JV}>.  285.  H  aphelion 


178  Geographical  and  Scientific  Remits 

aphelion  than  it  does  when  it  is  near  the  sun ;  and,  thereCc 
if  the  northern  winter  occurred  in  aphelion,  it  would  not  oi 
be  fourteen  millions  of  miles  further  from  the  sun  than  in  sn 
mer,  but,  as  it  moved  more  slowly,  its  winter  would  be  long 
The  other  hemisphere  with  its  winter  in  perihelion  would, 
the  same  time,  be  nearer  the  sun  in  winter,  and  get  its  win 
over  more  quickly. 

Year  by  year  the  aphelion  winter  would  get  colder  a 
colder ;  not  enough  to  produce  what  is  called  glaciation,  I 
enough  to  make  a  great  and  general  lowering  of  temperatni 
then  would  come  into  operation  certain  causes  affecting  t 
direction  of  ocean  currents,  to  complete  the  work  which  asti 
nomical  causes  had  begun. 

A  great  deal  of  controversy  has  taken  place  respecting  t 
physical  cause  of  the  ^circulation  of  ocean  currents.  Some  ha 
attributed  it  to  differences  of  specific  gravity  between  the  Pol 
and  Equatorial  water ;  some  to  difference  of  thermal  conditio 
between  the  Equator  and  the  Poles.  But  evidence,  in  o 
opinion  almost  irresistible,  points  to  the  conclusion  that  the  oce 
circulation  is  due  to  the  winds.  The  globe  may  be  said  to  ha 
only  one  sea,  just  as  the  earth  has  only  one  atmosphere.  We  8 
so  accustomed  to  think  of  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  as  sepan 
oceans,  and  the  currents  of  the  ocean  as  independent  of  o 
another,  that  a  confusion  not  unnaturally  results  from  the  id 
that,  supposing  the  currents  to  be  due  to  the  winds,  th( 
direction  must  follow  the  direction  of  the  prevailing  win 
blowing  over  that  particular  sea.  The  currents  are,  howevi 
only  members  of  a.  grand  system  of  circulation  produced  by  t 
combined  action  of  all  the  prevailing  winds  of  the  glol 
and  though  it  may  happen  that  the  general  system  of  win 
may  in  some  places  produce  a  current  directly  opposite  to  t 
direction  of  the  winds  blowing  over  that  particular  sea, 
general  terms  it  may  be  said  that  the  direction  of  the  mt 
currents  of  the  globe  agrees  with  the  direction  of  the  p 
vailing  winds.  For  example,  in  the  North  Atlantic,  the  G 
Stream  bifurcates  in  Mid-Atlantic ;  so  does  the  wind.  T 
left  branch  of  the  ^stream  passes  north-eastward  into  the  Arc 
regions,  and  the  right  branch  south-eastward  by  the  Azon 
so  does  the  wind.  The  south-eastern  branch  of  the  strea 
after  passing  the  Canaries,  re-enters  the  Equatorial  current,  a 
flows  into  the  Gulf  of  Mexico ;  the  same  holds  true  of  the  wii 
A  like  agreement  exists  in  reference  to  all  the  leading  currei 
of  the  ocean.  This  is  particularly  seen  in  the  great  Antarc 
current,  which,  instead  of  turning  to  the  left  under  the  influei 
of  the  earth's  rotation,  turns  to  the  right  when  it  gets  into  t 

regi 


of  tlie  Arctic  Expedition.  179 

Rgion  of  westerly  winds  between  Aff  and  50^  south  latitude. 
Mr.  Croll  goes  so  far  as  to  say  that  *  all  the  principal  currents 
of  the  globe  are  in  fact  moving  in  the  exact  direction  in  which 
thejong^t  to  move,  assuming  the  winds  to  be  the  sole  impelling 
CMue.  So  perfect  is  the  agreement  between  the  two  systems  that, 
giren  the  system  of  winds,  and  the  conformation  of  sea  and 
land,  the  system  of  oceanic  circulation  might  be  determined 
ajmon. 

Sir  George  Nares,  in  his  address  to  the  Royal  Geog^phical 
Society, t  briefly  but  boldly  expressed  similar  views.     He  said, 
*The  sea  is  the  great  distributor  of  heat.     The  two  well-known 
tnide  winds,  blowing  across  the  warm  tropical  seas  from  the  east- 
ward, and,  as  they  approach  the  Equator,  gradually  changing 
their  coarse  more  to  the   northward  and  southward,  till  they 
may  almost  be  said  to   meet,  by  the   never   ending  pressure 
which  they  exert  on   the   ocean   surface,  accumulate   a   head 
of  water  in  front  of  any  obstruction  to  their  course,  and  this 
flows  naturally  away  towards  the  point  or  points  of  least   re- 
sistance.'    That  is  the  whole  case ;  but  it  must  be  understood 
that  the  currents   are   not   all   on   the   surface.      The   surface 
cnnents  follow   the   direction   of  the  prevailing   winds;    the 
Qnder-currents,  by   means   of  which   equilibrium   is   restored, 
generally  dive  down  beneath  the  surface  current,  and  run  in  the 
opposite  direction.    Such  is  the  case  with  the  Gulf  Stream,  which 
passes  under  the  Polar  stream  on  the  west  of  Spitzbergen,  the 
letter  passing  in  turn  under  the  Gulf  Stream  beyond  Bear  Island, 
^e  Polar  streams  flow  southward  as  surface  currents  as  long  as 
4ej  remain  under  the  influence  of  northerly  winds.    When  they 
reach  the  region  of  south-westerly  winds,  they  disappear  under 
the  warm  waters  of  the  Gulf  Stream.     And  this  for  the  simple 
reason  that  in  each  instance  the  stream,  as  Sir  George  Nares 
^Ji)  will  take  the  line  of  least  resistance.     In  the  case  of  a 
*^teaxh  going  before  the  wind,  this  will  be  on  the  surface ;  when 
&Aiig  against  the  wind,  the  line  of  least  resistance  will  be  some 
Stance  below  it. 

Now,  we  have  seen  how  great  an  influence  the  ocean  circulation 
^etts.on  the  climate  of  the  earth ;  we  have  also  seen  that  the 
"i^ection  of  ocean  currents  is  determined  by  that  of  the  pre- 
^^*uing  winds.  If,  therefore,  it  should  appear  that  astronomical 
causes  affect  the  general  direction  of  the  winds,  it  will  be 
CTident  that  indirectly  the  same  astronomical  causes  influence 
*he  climate  of  the  earth.  The  trade  winds  are  caused  by  a 
cold  in<draught   from   the  Poles   continually  rushing   towards 

*  Croll,  •  Climate  and  Time,'  p.  214.        t  See  *  Times/  December  13, 1876. 

N  2  the 


180  Geographical  and  Scientific  Results 

the  Equator,  there  to  replace  the  rarefied  air,  which,  ascendi 
forms  an  upper  current  north  and  south.  If  the  earth  vi 
quiescent,  the  lower  current  would,  in  both  hemispheres,  bl 
nearly  north  and  south  respectively;  but  the  globe  revol 
on  its  axis  from  west  to  east ;  its  velocity,  nothing  at 
Poles,  is  about  a  thousand  miles  an  hour  at  the  Equal 
In  passing  from  high  latitudes  to  the  Equator,  the  c 
currents  of  air  arrive  progressively  at  regions  where 
earth  is  revolving  with  more  and  more  velocity.  The  j 
flowing  from  the  north  and  south,  is  unable  to  keep  up  w 
this  continually  increasing  rate  of  rotation  ;  it  lags  behind,  8 
thus  forms  two  currents,  opposite  in  direction  to  the  rotati 
of  the  earth.  Thus,  by  the  combined  efforts  of  the  rotation 
the  earth  and  the  difference  of  temperature  between  the  Po 
and  Equator,  two  permanent  winds  are  formed,  to  whi 
the  names  of  the  north-east  and  south-east  trades  are  giv 
Whichever  Pole  is  the  coldest,  or  differs  most  in  temperati 
from  the  Equator,  has  most  disturbance  of  thermal  equilibrii 
to  adjust,  and  sends  forth  the  strongest  wind.  At  prese 
the  south  is  the  coldest  Pole,  and  the  south-east  trades  defl 
the  Gulf  Stream  to  the  north.  But  suppose  the  reve 
to  be  the  case,  and  the  northern  winter  at  a  period  of  hi 
eccentricity  to  occur  in  aphelion :  the  northern  winds,  comi 
from  what  would  then  be  the  coldest  Pole,  would  ov 
power  the  feebler  winds  of  the  south,  and  would  blow 
over  the  Equator  to  the  southward,  the  warm  Eqiiatox 
ocean  current  would  be  deflected,  and  would  go  to  sn 
the  Brazilian  stream  flowing  to  the  south,  Europe  would  sc 
sink  to  a  temperature  unfit  for  human  life,  and  a  glacial  epc 
would  occur  at  the  North  Pole.  At  length,  by  the  operation 
the  same  causes,  after  thousands  of  weary  years,  the  scene  woi 
begin  to  change.  The  precession  of  the  equinoxes  would  cai 
the  position  of  the  earth  in  summer  to  shift ;  the  northern  las 
would  begin  to  emerge  from  the  waters  of  the  icy  sea ;  the  it 
floes  to  deposit  their  boulder  on  the  lowlands;  the  winter 
become  less  long  and  dreary ;  finally  would  come  a  comply 
reversal — the  northern  winter  occurring  at  last  in  perihelion,  t 
difference  between  its  short  mild  winter  and  its  long  sumu 
would  almost  cease  to  be  appreciable  ;  and  while  the  otl 
hemisphere  was  undergoing  the  greatest  extremes  of  summ 
heat  and  winter  cold,  the  northern  would  enjoy  a  climate  U 
that  of  perpetual  spring.  Then,  as  in  the  former  case,  the  acti* 
of  the  winds  would  begin,  the  south-east  trades  would  ags 
convey  the  heated  Equatorial  water  to  the  Pole,  and  a  climi 
suitable  to  the  constitution  of  the  coal  plants  would  ensue. 


of  the  Arctic  Expedition.  181 

It  is  by  cosmical  phenomena  such  as  we  have  thus  briefly, 
and  necessarily  most  imperfectly,  described — phenomena  grand 
in  their  simplicity,  and  mighty  in  their  action — that,  in  the 
opinion  of  our  most  trustworthy  modern  physicists,  the  alterna- 
tions of  climate  at  the  Pole,  and  the  formation  of  the  Arctic  coal 
measures,  have  been  caused.     But  these  views,  though  held  by 
manj  able   natural    philosophers,    have   yet    not   been   finally 
accepted  by  a  portion  of  the  scientific  world.     A  short  time  ago 
a  paper  was  read  before  a  learned  society,  proving  fully  and 
ablj  that  no  appreciable  displacement  of  the  earth's  axis  of 
rotation  could  be  due  to  any  possible  accumulation  of  ice  at 
the  Pole.     So  far  good.     But  in  the  discussion  which  followed, 
it  seemed  to  be  assumed  that,  if  such  were  the  case,  there  was 
an  end  of  any  possible  explanation  of  the  tropical  flora  proved 
to  exist  at  the  Pole.     Some  went  so  far  as  to  suggest  that,  if 
the  inclination  of  the  Polar  axis  to  the  sun  had  not  changed, 
the  position   of  the  Pole   on   the   earth   must  have   changed, 
because,  as  was  said,  a  Polar  night  of  Ave  months  implies  a 
condition  of  things  which  must  have  been  fatal  to  the  life  of 
the  light^loving  coal-trees,  which  could  not  live  in  the  dark. 
This  objection,  however,    is    not   considered  a   valid    one   by 
Dr.  Hooker,  the  president  of  the  Royal  Society,  who  declares  that 
Ae  difficulty  is  much  greater  to  his  mind  of  conceiving  plants 
enduring  the  excitement  of  an  Arctic  day  than  the  torpor  of  an 
Arctic  night.     He  adds,  as  an  illustration  of  his  view,  that,  when 
^^  St.  Petersburg,  he  saw  houses  containing  tropical  plants — 
P^nis,  ferns,  and    the    like — covered   over   during   the  winter 
^ith  mats,  and  these  again   with  snow,  till  the  plants  were, 
for  months  together,  in   almost   total  darkness.      The   tempe- 
rature was  much  lower  than  the  normal  requirements  of  such 
vegetation,  and  yet,  to  his  surprise,  when  summer  returned,  the 
plants  awoke  as  if  it  were  from  long  sleep,  and  were  splendid 
Tedmens  of  health  and  growth.    The  difficulty  arising  from  the 
length  of  the  Arctic  night  was  therefore  not  very  formidable.  We 
^not  resist  the  pleasure  of  adding  that  Dr.  Hooker,  who  will 
universally  be  allowed  to  be  the  first  living  authority  on  such 
subjects,  expressed  this  opiniqn  in  conversation  with  the  writer 
<>i  these  pages,  and  kindly  accompanied  his  remarks  with  per- 
"^ission  to  quote  them.     It  may  be  as  well  to  add — though  we 
hope  we  have  already  made  our  meaning  clear — that  the  alter- 
^^**^  emergence  and  submersion  of  the  land  of  the  Pole,  due  to 
the  presence  of  the  ice-cap,   is  not  produced  by  altering  the 
jnclination  of  the  axis  of  rotation  of  the  earth,  as  a  ship  would 
^  niade  to  float  lopsided  by  piling  weights  on  one  side  of 
her  deck.      The  ice  operates  by  altering  the  position  of  the 

centre 


182  Geographical  and  ScterUific  Results 

centre  of  gravity.  In  a  billiard  ball  the  centre  of  gravity  is  in 
the  exact  centre  of  the  ball ;  melt  a  few  drops  of  lead  on  to  it» 
surface,  and  the  centre  of  gravity  of  the  whole  mass  will  shift 
in  the  direction  of  the  lead.  So  on  the  earth:  the  weight  of 
the  ice  will  shift  the  centre  of  gravity  a  little  in  the  direction 
of  the  glaciated  Pole ;  the  land  is  rigid  and  cannot  move ;  but 
the  particles  of  water  will  group  themselves  round  the  new 
centre,  and  consequently  rise  upon  the  land. 

The  sledging  parties   of  the  expedition  started   with   high 
hopes  and  in  the  best  spirits.     They  were  the  picked  men  oF 
the  Navy,  and  formed  a  command  of  which  any  officer  might 
well  be  proud.     But  almost  at  a  stroke  all  the  fair  appeaxance 
of  things  was  changed.     In  one  party  after  another  the  dreadful 
scourge  of  scurvy  broke  out,  which  used  once  to  be  the  terror  of* 
our  Navy,  but  had  gradually  come  to  be  regarded  as  one  of  those- 
preventible  maladies  which  had  been  made  matter  of  past  his- 
tory by  modem  appliances  and  science.     We  need  not  dwelL 
much  on  the  terrible  theme ;  it  has  been  matter  of  discussion  in. 
public  and  in  private,  and  the  facts  of  the  case  are  not  in  dis- 
pute.    The   sledges  started  without  the  rations  of  lime-juice^, 
which  by  some  is  said  to  be  an  absolute  preventive,  and  th^^ 
chief  of  the  expedition  has,  with  a  chivalry  and  candour  whict^. 
do  him  honour,  whether  he  has  failed  in  judgment  or  not,  de- 
clared that  such  was  the  fact,  and  that  the  omission  was  maclc»^ 
by  his  orders  and  on  his  responsibility.     In  his  speech  at  thi 
Guildhall  he  gave  his  reasons. 


'  I  will  preface  any  remarks  I  may  make  by  stating  that  I, 
commander,  am  alone  responsible  for  all  connected  with  the  condaot 
and  diet  of  the  Arctic  Expedition.     Speaking  after  the  game  has  been 
played  out,  it  is,  of  course,  very  easy  for  mo  and  others  to  talk  iu>\¥ 
of  what  we  should  and  what  we  should  not  have  done.     But,  aotiag 
on  my  lights  and  experience  at  the  time,  I  followed  the  example  of 
such  men  as  M*Clintock,  Bichards,  Mecham,  and  M'Oluro,  of  ib® 
« Investigator,"  and  started  off  our  sledges  with  as  nearly  as  posflible 
the  same  rations  as  had  proved  fairly  successful  on  all  previous  oooa- 
sions — that  is,  without  lime-juice  for  issue  as  a  ration,  a  small  quantity 
for  use  as  a  medicine  being  carried  by  the  sledges  which  were  "Bf^ 
expected  to  be  able  to  obtain  game.     With  a  similar  scale  of  di^^ 
former  expeditions  were  more  or  less  successful ;    former  sledge 
parties  returned  to  their  ships,  after  an  absence  of  more  than  ^^® 
hundred  days,  without  lime-juice ;  some  of  our  party  were  strick^ 
down  after  only  ton  days.     No  sledge  party  employed  in  the  Ar^**^ 
regions  in  the  cold  month  of  April  has  over  been  able  to  iaso^  * 
regular  ration  of  lime-juice.      Every  commander  has  desired    ^ 
continue  the  daily  issue  of  lime-juice  while  travelling,  as  rec^^" 
mended  by  all  the  medical  authorities,  but  all  have  failed  in  doin^  ^ 


of  tlie  Arctic  Expedition.  183 

during  the  cold  weather.  In  addition  to  the  extra  weight  to  be 
dragged  that  its  carriage  would  entail,  th^re  is  the  even  more  serious 
ocoigideration  of  the. time  necessary  in  order  to  melt  sufficient  snow. 
At  the  present  time  the  necessary  cooking  in  the  morning  and  evening 
occupies  the  cook  for  between  five  and  six  hours,  in  addition  to  his 
long  day*8  work  dragging  the  sledge.  It  is  no  easy  matter  to  drag 
joor  house,  proyisions,  and  fael  for  melting  snow,  and  to  rely  solely 
upon  the  one  load  for  about  forty  days.  In  the  late  expedition  aU 
tiie  officers  and  men  preferred  tea  for  lunch  instead  of  the  former 
ntion  of  rum,  but  this  alteration  necessitated  a  long  halt  of  an  hour 
or  an  hour  and  a  half  in  the  middle  of  the  day's  journey,  the  party 
daneiog  round  the  sledge  in  the  meantime  in  order  to  keep  themselves 
mm.  When  I  state  this  fact,  perhaps  some  can  realise  how  totally 
iQttble  we  were  to  obtain  even  a  draught  of  water,  however  thirsty  we 
Dight  be.  After  the  middle  of  May,  when  the  weather  is  warmer, 
lune-jnice  can  be  and  was  used  as  a  ration.  Of  course  hereafter 
lisie-jnice  in  some  shape  or  other  must  be  carried  in  all  sledging 
joQineys ;  and  we  earnestly  trust  that  some  means  will  be  found  to 
ottke  it  into  a  lozenge,  for,  as  a  fluid,  there  is,  and  will  always  be, 
«itreme  difficulty  in  using  it  in  cold  weather  unless  Arctic  travelling 
is  considerably  curtailed.  Owing  to  the  thaw  which  sets  in  before 
ibe  return  of  the  sledges,  in  its  present  state  it  must  be  carried  in 
Inyttles ;  but  up  to  the  middle  of  May,  it  remains  frozen  as  solid  as  a 
lock,  and  if  the  bottles  have  not  already  been  broken  by  the  jolting  of 
^  sledge  or  the  freezing  of  the  contents,  they  have  to  be  broken  on 
porpofie  before  chipping  off  a  piece  of  the  frozen  lime-juice,  as  if  it 
^ore  a  piece  of  stone.' 

On  a  matter  of  this  importance  it  is  not  necessary  either  to 
apologise  for  this  long  extract  or  to  add  anything  to  it.  Con- 
troversy about  facts  must  cease  when  the  principal  person  con- 
^rned  has  admitted  and  justified  what  some  hold  to  be  the 
<^harge  against  him,  and  which  he  himself  declares  must  be  the 
*^bject  of  careful  and  exhaustive  inquiry.  We  have  every 
'reason  to  believe  that  this  inquiry  will  be  held  without  delay, 
^nd  we  have  no  intention  to  anticipate  it.  There. is  only  one 
'^niark  that  we  should  desire  to  make  :  a  fault  of  judgment  may 
^  pardoned  in  a  commander ;  want  of  moral  strength,  never, 
f^ven  if  it  should  be  found  that  Sir  George  failed  in  judgment 
^^J  this  matter,  he  has  in  our  opinion  shown  the  finer  form  of 
^^ess  for  command,  in  bis  readiness  to  assume  the  responsi- 
*>ility  of  his  acte. 

As  soon  as  it  was  known  that  the  land  described  in  the 
"American  charts  did  not  exist,  it  was  a  matter  of  foregone 
^^nclusion  that  Captain  Markham  should  fail  to  reach  the 
^ole.  The  route  over  which  he  had  to  travel  had  already 
^n  surveyed  in  the  spring,  and  it  was  known  that,  as  soon 
^  the  land  was   left,  it  would  be  impossible  to  make  much 

head 


184  Geographical  and  Scientific  Results 

head  over  the  paleocrystic  ice.     But  he  did  all  that  mortal  m 

could  do,  and,  to  say  the  truth,  all  that  he  was  meant  to  do, 

planting  the  British  flag  in  the  highest  latitude  ever  reached 

man.     We  can  now  say  to  our  friendly  rivals,  C*est  a  vcus^  M 

sieurs.     It  has  taken  nearly  fifty  years  to  beat  Parry  by  twei 

miles  or  so.  We  can  rest  on  our  oars  now  till  another  nation  be 

Markham  and  Parr.   The  heroism  of  the  sledge  crews  was  mag 

ficent.     Overworked,  overtired,  borne  down  by  the  weight  o; 

dreadful  and  depressing  malady,  cold,  hungry — for,  in  their  st 

of  sickness,  it  was  impossible  for  them   to   eat   the  availa 

rations — they  struggled  on;  they  had  not  even  the  excitement 

hope,  for  they  well  knew  that  to  reach  the  Pole  was  the  wildest 

dreams.     As  one  man  after  another  fell  a  victim  to  the  dread 

malady,  they  put  him  on  the  sledges,  and  went  on  with  i 

additional  weight.     It  was  not  till  they  were  utterly  exhaust 

that  they  turned  their  faces  towards  the  ship.     When  wit! 

thirty  miles  of  it,  they  could  get  no  further,  and  Commander  P 

volunteered  to  go  off  alone  into   the   dreadful   desert  on  ^ 

chance  of  reaching  the  ship  and  bringing  back  assistance 

the  sufferers.     He  arrived  unable  to  articulate  from  exhausti* 

We  need  hardly  say  that  the  whole  of  the  officers  on  bo) 

volunteered  for  the  relief  sledges,  and  within  an  hour  were 

the  road.     Of  seventeen  of  the  finest  men  of  the  Navy  ^ 

composed  the  original  party,  but  five  were  able  to  walk  aloi 

side.     One  was  dead,  and  the  remainder  in  the  last  extren 

of  illness. 

The  case  of  the  Greenland  explorers  was  even  worse.  Cc 
mander  Beaumont  quitted  his  ship,  the  *  Discovery,'  on  the  6tl 
April,  and  arrived  at  the  *  Alert '  on  the  16th,  whence  he  mi 
his  final  start,  and  had  hardly  advanced  more  than  a  few  Bii 
before  his  party  were  attacked  with  the  same  blight  as  1 
prostrated  the  northern  division.  Even  on  his  outward  joum 
man  after  man  fell  sick,  and  had  to  be  carried  on  the  sled^ 
The  20th  of  May,  more  than  a  month  from  the  time  of  his 
parture,  he  was  still  fighting  his  way  along  the  coast  of  No 
Greenland. 

We  give  almost  at  random  a  few  lines  from  his  joun 
They  will  show  what  kind  of  trial  he  and  his  men  ¥r 
enduring,  and  under  what  circumstances  discipline  was  ma 
tained. 

'  In  the  meantime  the  men  had  been  struggling  on  as  best  i 
could,  sometimes  dragging  the  sledge  on  their  hands  and  kneefi 
relieve  their  aching  legs,  or  hauling  ahead  with  a  long  rope  i 
standing  pulls.  .  .  .  Nobody  will  ever  believe  what  hard  work  i 
becomes,  but  this  may  give  them  some  idea  of  it.    When  halted 

Im 


of  the  Arctic  Expedition.  185 

Inccl),  two  of  the  men  crawled  for  two  hnndred  yards  on  their  bands 
and  knees  rather  than  walk  unnecessarily  through  this  awful  snow. .  * 

And  this  was  an  advancing  exploring  party  I 
A  few  days  later : — 

'  For  two  days  previous  they  had  been  unable  to  change  or  even 
reach  any  of  their  foot  gear,  and  now  Paul  was  as  bad ;  and  for  the 
remainder  of  the  time  each  man,  as  he  arrived  at  that  stage  of  disease, 
had  to  be  dressed  and  prepared  for  the  day's  journey  every  morning 
and  put  to  bed  in  the  evening.' 

Still  later  :— 

'  Next  march,  Dobing  broke  down  altogether,  and  Jones  felt  so  bad' 
he  did  not  think  he  could  last  much  longer.  Poor  fellows !  disappoint- 
ment at  ihe  change  of  routes  had  much  to  do  with  it.  This  was  our 
darkest  day.  We  were  forty  miles  off  Polaris  Bay  at  the  very  least, 
and  only  Gray  and  myself  to  drag  the  sledge  and  the  sick.  The 
thing  did  not  seem  possible.  ... 

'  The  work  towards  the  end  became  excessively  severe  on  account 
of  the  narrowness  of  the  passes.  The  sledge  had  to  be  unloaded  and 
the  ffick  lowered  separately  in  the  sail.  .  .  . 

'  On  the  evening  of  the  24th  we  started  for  our  last  journey  with 
the  dedge,  as  I  thought ;  for  finding  that  Jones  and  Gray  were 
■oaroely  able  to  pull,  I  had  determined  to  reach  the  shore  at  the  plain,, 
pitch  the  tent,  and  walk  over  by  myself  to  Polaris  Bay,  to  see  if  there 
were  anyone  there  to  help  us ;  if  not,  come  back,  and,  sending  Jones 
ttd  Gray,  who  could  still  walk,  to  the  depot,  remain  with  the  sick  and 
get  them  on  as  best  I  could.  But  I  thank  God  it  did  not  come  to 
this,  for  as  we  were  plodding  along  the  now  water-sodden  floe  towards 
the  shore,  I  saw  what  turned  out  to  be  a  dog  sledge  and  three  men, 
*&d  soon  after  had  the  pleasure  of  shaking  hands  with  Lieutenant 
SawBon  and  Dr.  Goppinger.  Words  cannot  expiess  the  pleasure, 
'^lidfjand  gratitude,  we  all  felt  at  this  timely  meeting.  It  did  the  sick 
^^  all  the  good  in  the  world.' 

To  quote  from  the  journal  of  Commander  Aldrich,  who  led  the 
J^rn  division,  would  be  to  repeat  the  same  dreaedful  details. 
^^  party  broke  down,  and  were  supported  by  the  same  plucky 
*nd  brought  back  alive — that  is  all  one  can  say — by  the  help 
^f  God  and  the  same  determined  courage.  Surely  nothing 
finer  was  ever  recorded  than  this  advance  of  three  sledges,  one 
^  the  north,  another  to  the  east,  a  third  to  the  west,  laden 
«own  with  sick  and  dying  men,  in  obedience  to  an  order  to  do 
^*ieir  best,  each  in  their  separate  direction.  And  nothing  more 
inching  was  ever  penned  than  the  narratives,  full  of  tenderness 
^d  simplicity,  in  which  the  sailor  writers  tell  their  story. 

It  is  the  old  story — too  common  in  English  annals — the 
^^ganisation  broke  down,  and  individual  heroism  stepped  in 
^  save  the  honour  of  the  day.     But  at  what  a  cost  1 

There 


186  A  French  Critic  on  Milton. 

There  are  some  defeats  which  are  more  glorious  than  Tic- 
tories  ;  some  failures  which  are  grander  than  the  most  brillUnt 
success.  The  charge  of  the  Light  Brigade  at  Balaclava  was  a 
useless  waste  of  life ;  yet  we  doubt  if  any  feat  of  anns  in 
modem  times  ever  had  so  fine  a  moral  effect  as  that  pieoe 
of  heroic  stupidity.  In  like  manner,  these  gallant  seamen 
have  failed  to  reach  the  Pole ;  but  they  have  won  a  prood 
place  in  their  country's  annals.  They  have  done  Englishmen 
good.  Pity  it  is  that  we  should  have  to  say,  as  the  militaxy 
critic  did  of  that  other  deed  we  spoke  of  but  now — ^C^ 
magnifiq'ue  ;  mais  ce  n*est  pas  la  ffuerre" 


Art.  VI. — Maeaulays  Essay  on  Milton ;  AddisanCs  Eaags  « 
Paradise  Lost ;  Johnson^ s  Life  of  Milton  ;  MtUon  et  b  Paradis 
Perdu  in  Etudes  Critiques  de  Litterature.  Par  Edmond 
Scherer.     Paris,  1876. 

MR.  TREVELYAN'S  Life  of  his  uncle  must  have  induced 
many  people  to  read  again  Lord  Macaulay's  *  Essay  on 
Milton.'  With  that  Essay  began  M acaulay's  literary  career,  and, 
brilliant  as  the  career  was,  it  had  few  points  more  brilliant  than 
its  beginning.  Mr.  Trevelyan  describes  with  animation  that 
decisive  first  success.  The  *  Essay  on  Milton '  appeared  in  the 
*  Edinburgh  Review  '  in  1825  : — 

*  The  effect  on  the  author's  reputation/  says  Mr.  Trevdyan,  and  we 
belioYO  truly, '  was  instantaneous.  Like  Lord  Byron,  he  awoke  one 
morning  and  found  biinseK  famous.  The  beauties  of  the  work  weio 
such  as  all  men  could  recognise,  and  its  very  faults  pleased.  .  •  • 
The  family  breakfast  table  in  Bloomsbury  was  covered  with  cards  of 
invitation  to  dinner  from  every  quarter  of  London.  ...  A  wana 
admirer  of  Robert  Hall,  Macaulay  hoard  with  prido  how  the  gw** 
preacher,  then  wellnigh  worn  out  with  that  long  disease,  his  Mfe 
was  discovered  lying  on  the  floor,  employed  in  learning  by  aid  rf 
grammar  and  dictionary  enough  Italian  to  enable  him  to  verify  tho 
parallel  between  Milton  and  Dauto.  But  the  compliment  that  of  tjl 
others  came  most  nearly  home, — the  only  commendation  of  h» 
literary  talent  which  even  in  the  innermost  domestic  circle  he  waa 
ever  known  to  repeat, — was  the  sentence  with  which  Jeffrey  acknow- 
ledged the  receipt  of  his  manuscript :  '^  Tlio  more  I  think,  the  letf  ^ 
can  conceive  where  you  picked  up  that  style." ' 

And  already,  in  the  *  Essay  on  Milton,'  the  style  of  MacaulaJ 
is,  indeed,  that  which  we  know  so  well.  A  style  to  dazzle,  to 
gain  admirers  everywhere,  to  attract  imitators   in   multitude  I 

A  style 


A  French  Critic  on  Milton.  187 

illiant,  metallic,  exterior  ;  making  strong  points, 
invective  with  eulogy,  wrapping  its  object  in  a  robe 

not,  with  the  soft  play  of  life,  following  and  ren- 
object's  very  form  and  pressure.  For,  indeed,  in 
is  object  in  this  fashion,  Macaulay's  gift  did  not  lie. 
ran  reminds  us  that  in  the  preface  to  his  collected 
1  Macaulay  himself  '  unsparingly  condemns  the  re- 
f  youthful  enthusiasm'  of  the  ^ Essay  on  Milton.' 
soundness  of  the  Essay  does  not  spring  from  its 
s  of  youthful  enthusiasm.'  It  springs  from  this: 
!ter  has  not  for  his  aim  to  see  and  to  utter  the  real 

his  object.  Whoever  comes  to  the  *  Essay  on 
h  the  desire  to  get  at  the  real  truth  about  Milton, 
a  man  or  as  a  poet,  will  feel  that  the  Essay  in 
s  him.  A  reader  who  only  wants  rhetoric,  a  reader 
I  panegyric  on  Milton,  a  panegyric  on  the  Puritans, 
lat  he  wants.  A  reader  who  wants  criticism  will  be 
1. 

Id  be  palpable  to  all  the  world,  and  every  one  would 
iased,  but  disappointed,  by  the  ^  Essay  on  Milton,' 
that  the  readers  who  seek  for  criticism  are  extremely 
:he  readers  who  seek  for  rhetoric,  or  who  seek  for 
(lame  to  suit  their  own  already  established  likes  and 

extremely  many.  A  man  who  is  fond  of  rhetoric 
easure  in  hearing  that  in  *  Paradise  Lost '  ^  Milton's 
)f  love  unites  all  the  voluptuousness  of  the  Oriental 
all  the  gallantry  of  the  chivalric  tournament,  with 
!  and  quiet  affection  of  an  English  fireside.'  He 
:  being  told  that  '  Milton's  thoughts  resemble  those 
its  and  flowers  which  the  Virgin  Martyr  of  Mas- 
lown  from  the  gardens  of  Paradise  to  the  earth,  and 

distinguished  from  the  productions  of  other  souls 

superior  bloom  and  sweetness,  but  by  miraculous 
ivigorate  and  to  heal.'  He  may  imagine  that  he  has 
ng  profound  when  he  reads  that  if  we  compare 
Dante  in  their  management  of  the  agency  of  super- 
igs — '  the  exact  details  of  Dante  with  the  dim  inti- 
Vf  ilton ' — the  right  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter  is 


rote  in  an  age  of  philosophers  and  theologians.  It  was 
3refore,  for  him  to  abstain  from  giving  such  a  shock  to 
andings  as  might  break  the  charm  which  it  was  his 
w  over  their  imaginations.  It  was  impossible  for  him  to 
lier  the  material  or  tho  immaterial  system.  He  therefore 
id  on  the  debateable  ground.    He  left  the  whole  in 

ambiguity. 


188  A  French  Critic  on  Milton. 

ambiguity.  He  has  doubtless,  by  bo  doing,  laid  himself  open  to  tin 
charge  of  inconsistency.  But  though  philosophically  in  the  wzong 
he  was  poetically  in  the  right' 

Poor  Robert  Hall,  ^  wellnigb  worn  out  with  that  long  diaeaie, 
his  life,'  and,  in  the  last  precious  days  of  it,  *  discovered  lying 
on  the  floor,  employed  in   learning,  by  aid   of  grammar  and 
dictionary,  enough  Italian  to  enable  him  to  verify '  this  inge- 
nious criticism  I     Alas  I  even  had  his  life  been  prolonged  like 
Hezekiah's,  he  could  not  have  verified  it,  for  it  is  unverifiabk 
A  poet  who,  writing  ^  in  an  age  of  philosophers  and  theologians,' 
finds  it  ^  impossible  for  him  to  adopt  altogether  the  material  or 
the  immaterial  system,'  who,  therefore,  ^  takes  his  stand  on  the 
debateable  ground,'  who  *  leaves  the  whole  in  ambiguity,'  and 
who,   in  doing  so,  ^  though   philosophically  in  the  wrong,  was 
poetically  in  the  right  I '     Substantial  meaning  such  lucubrations 
have  none ;  they  arc  rhetoric.     And  in  like  manner  a  distinct 
and  substantial  meaning  can  never  be  got  out  of  the  fine  phrases 
about  ^  Milton's  conception  of  love  uniting  all  the  voluptnonsnev 
of  the  Oriental  haram,  and  all  the  gallantry  of  the  chivalric 
tournament,  with  all  the  pure  and  quiet  affection  of  an  English 
fireside ; '  or  about  ^  Milton's  thoughts  resembling  those  celestial 
■  fruits  and  flowers  which  the  Virgin  Martyr  of  Massinger  sent 
down  from  the  gardens  of  Paradise  to  the  earth ;'  the  phrases  are 
mere  rhetoric.     Macaulay's  writing  passes  for  being  admiraUj 
clear,  and  so  externally  it  is  ;  but  it  is  really  obscure,  if  one  takes 
his  deliverances  seriously,  and  seeks  to  find  in  them  a  definite 
meaning.     However,  there  is,  no  doubt,  a  multitude  of  readers 
for  whom   it  is  sufficient  to  have  their  ears  tickled  with  fine 
rhetoric ;  but  the  tickling  makes  a  serious  reader  impatient 

Many  readers  there  are,  again,  who  come  to  an  Essay  on 
Milton  with  their  minds  full  of  zeal  for  the  Puritan  cause,  and 
for  Milton  as  one  of  the  glories  of  Puritanism.  Of  such  readers 
the  great  desire  is  to  have  the  cause  and  the  man,  who  are 
already  established  objects  of  enthusiasm  for  them,  strong^/ 
praised.  Certainly  Macaulay  will  satisfy  them.  They  will  hear 
that  the  Civil  War  was  *  the  great  coidict  between  Oromasdes 
and  Arimanes,  liberty  and  despotism,  reason  and  prejudice; 
the  Puritans  being  Oromasdes,  and  the  Royalists  Arimanes. 
They  will  be  told  that  the  great  Puritan  poet  was  worthy  of  the 
august  cause  which  he  served.  *  His  radiant  and  beneficent 
career  resembled  that  of  the  god  of  light  and  fertility.'  *  There 
are  a  few  characters  which  have  stood  the  closest  scrutiny  and  the 
severest  tests,  which  have  been  tried  in  the  furnace  and  hat* 
proved  pure,  which  have  been  declared  sterling  by  the  general 
consent  of  mankind,  and  which  are  visibly  stamped  with  the 

image 


A  French  Critic  on  Milton.  189 

.nd  superscription  of  the  Most  High.  Of  these  was 
To  descend  a  little  to  particulars.  Milton's  temper 
eciallj  admirable.  *The  gloom  of  Dante's  character 
rs  all  the  passions  of  men  and  all  the  face  of  nature,  and 
ith  its  own  livid  hue  the  flowers  of  Paradise,  and  the 
»f  the  eternal  throne.'  But  in  our  countryman,  although 
despondency  and  asperity  could  be  excused  in  any  man, 
^ht  have  been  excused  in  Milton,'  nothing  *  had  power 
rb  his  sedate  and  majestic  patience/     All  this  is  just 

ardent  admirer  of  the  Puritan  cause  and  of  Milton  could 
sh  to  hear,  and  when  he  hears  it  he  is  in  ecstasies. 

disinterested  reader,  whose  object  is  not  to  hear  Puri- 
and  Milton  glorified,  but  to  get  at  the  truth  about 
ill  surely  be  dissatisfied.  With  what  a  heavy  brush,  he 
'  to  himself,  does  this  man  lay  on  his  colours  I  The 
I  Oromasdes,  and  the  Royalists  Arimanes?  What  a 
;  strain  from  Chillingworth's,  in  his  sermon  at  Oxford  at 
nning  of  the  Civil  War  1  *  Publicans  and  sinners  on  the 
(,'  said    Chill ingworth,  ^Scribes  and  Pharisees   on  the 

Not  at  all  a  conflict  between  Oromasdes  and  Arimanes, 
^ood  deal  of  Arimanes  on  both  sides.  And  as  human 
^,  Chillingworth's  version  of  the  matter  is  likely  to  be 
the  truth  than  Macaulay's.  Indeed,  for  any  one  who 
oughtfully  and  without  bias,  Macaulay  himself,  with  the 
tency  of  a  born  rhetorician,  presently  confutes  his  own 

He  says  of  the  Royalists,  'They  had  far  more  both 
»und  and  of  polite  learning  than  the  Puritans.  Their 
I  were  more  engaging,  their  tempers  more  amiable,  their 
aore  elegant,  and  their  households  more  cheerful.'  Is 
iore  *  kindly  affectioned '  such  an  insignificant  superiority? 
)yalists,  too,  then,  in  spite  of  their  being  insufliciently 
for  civil  and  ecclesiastical  liberty,  had  in  them  some- 
r  Oromasdes,  the  principle  of  light. 

Milton's  temper !  His  *  sedate  and  majestic  patience  ; ' 
lorn  from  '  asperity  1 '  If  there  is  a  defect  which,  above 
(rs,  is  signal  in  Milton,  which  injures  him  even  intel- 
jT,  which  limits  him  as  a  poet,  it  is  the  defect  common 

with  the  whole  Puritan  party  to  which  he  belonged — 
1  defect  of  temper.  He  and  they  may  have  a  thousand 
but  they  are  unamiable.  Excuse  them  how  one  will, 
s  asperity  and  acerbity,  his  want  of  sweetness  of  temper, 
Shakspearian  largeness  and  indulgence,  are  undeniable, 
iacaulay  in  his  Essay  regrets  that  the  prose  writings 
on  should  not  be  more  read.  *  They  abound,'  he  says 
rhetorical  way,  '  with  passages,  compared  with   which 

the 


190  A  French  Critic  on  Milton. 

the  finest  declamations  of  Burke  sink  into  insignificance.' 
any  rate,  they  enable  us  to  judge  of  MiltCHi's  temper,  of 
freedom  from  asperity.  Let  us  open  the  ^  Doctrine  and  1 
cipline  of  Divorce,'  and  see  how  Milton  treats  an  oppon 
'  How  should  he,  a  serving-man  both  by  nature  and  fund 
an  idiot  by  breeding,  and  a  solicitor  by  presumption,  ever  o 
to  know  or  feel  within  himself  what  the  meaning  is  a£ffmU 
What  a  gracious  temper !  ^  At  last,  and  in  good  hour,  we  o 
to  his  farewell,  which  is  to  be  a  concluding  taste  of  his  jab) 
ment  in  law,  the  flashiest  and  the  fustiest  that  ever  corruptee 
such  an  unswilled  hogshead.'  How  ^  sedate  and  majestic  I' 
Human  progress  consists  in  a  continual  increase  in 
number  of  those  who,  ceasing  to  live  by  the  animal  life  al 
and  to  feel  the  pleasures  of  sense  only,  come  to  participate 
the  intellectual  life  also,  and  to  find  enjoyment  in  the  thing 
the  mind.  The  enjoyment  is  not  at  first  very  discriminati 
Rhetoric,  brilliant  writing,  gives  to  such  persons  pleasure  foi 
own  sake ;  but  it  gives  them  pleasure,  still  more,  when  it  is  < 
ployed  in  commendation  of  a  view  of  life  which  is  on  the  wl 
theirs,  and  of  men  and  causes  with  which  they  are  naton 
in  sympathy.  The  immense  popularity  of  Macaulay  is  da< 
his  being  pre-eminently  fitted  to  give  pleasure  to  all  wha 
beginning  to  feel  enjoyment  in  the  things  of  the  mind.  I 
said  that  the  traveller  in  Australia,  visiting  one  settWs 
after  another,  finds  again  and  again  that  the  settler's  third  be 
after  the  Bible  and  Shakspeare,  is  some  work  by  Macau 
Nothing  can  be  more  natural.  The  Bible  and  Shakspeare  i 
be  said  to  be  imposed  upon  an  Englishman  as  objects  of 
admiration ;  but  as  soon  as  the  common  Englishman,  desii 
culture,  begins  to  choose  for  himself,  he  chooses  Macau 
Macaulay's  view  of  things  is,  on  the  whole,  the  view  of  tl 
which  he  feels  to  be  his  own  also ;  the  persons  and  causes  prai 
are  those  which  he  himself  is  disposed  to  admire ;  the  pen 
and  causes  blamed  are  those  with  which  he  himself  is  out 
sympathy ;  and  the  rhetoric  employed  to  praise  or  to  blame  tl 
is  animating  and  excellent.  Macaulay  is  thus  a  great  civili 
In  hundreds  of  men  he  hits  their  nascent  taste  for  the  thing 
the  mind,  possesses  himself  of  it  and  stimulates  it,  draws 
powerfully  forth  and  confirms  it. 

But  with  the  increasing  number  of  those  who  awake  to 
intellectual  life,  the  number  of  those  also  increases,  who,  haT 
awoke  tD  it,  go  on  with  it,  follow  where  it  leads  them.  Am 
leads  them  to  see  that  it  is  their  business  to  learn  the  real  tr 
about  the  important  men,  and  things,  and  books,  which  intei 
the  human  mind.    For  thus  is  gradually  to  be  acquired  a  stool 

801 


A  French  Critic  on  Milton.  191 

sonnd  ideas,  in  which  their  mind  will  habitually  move,  and 
which  alone  can  give  to  their  judgments  security  and  solidity. 
To  be  satisfied  with  fine  writing  about  the  object  of  one's  study, 
with  having  it  praised  or  blamed  in  accordance  with  one's  own 
likes  or  dislikes,  with  any  conventional  treatment  of  it,  is  at 
this  stage  of  growth  seen  to  be  futile.  At  this  stage,  rhetoric, 
eren  when  it  is  as  good  as  Macaulay's,  dissatisfies.  And  the 
nnmber  of  people  who  have  reached  this  stage  of  mental  growth 
is  constantly,  as  things  now  are,  increasing ;  increasing  by  the 
Tery  same  law  of  progress  which  plants  the  beginnings  of 
mental  life  in  more  and  more  persons  who,  until  now,  have 
nerer  known  it.  So  that  while  the  number  of  those  who  are 
delighted  with  rhetoric  such  as  Macaulay's  is  always  increasing, 
the  number  of  those  who  are  dissatisfied  with  it  is  always 
increasing  too. 

And  not  only  rhetoric  dissatisfies  persons  at  this  stage,  but 
oonTentionality  of  any  kind.  This  is  the  fault  of  Addison's 
Miltonic  criticism,  once  so  celebrated ;  it  rests  almost  entirely 
njKm  convention.  Here  is  *  Paradise  Lost,'  *  a  work  which  does 
ui  honour  to  the  English  nation,'  a  work  claiming  to  be  one  of 
the  great  poems  of  the  world,  to  be  of  the  highest  moment  to  us. 

*  The  **  Paradise  Lost,"  says  Addison,  '  is  looked  upon  by  the 
l^est  judges  as  the  greatest  production,  or  at  least  the  noblest 
^ork  of  genius,  in  our  language,  and  therefore  deserves  to  be 
8et  before  an  English  reader  in  its  full  beauty.'  The  right 
thing,  surely,  is  for  such  a  work  to  prove  its  own  virtue  by  power- 
joUy  and  delightfully  affecting  us  as  we  read  it,  and  by  remain- 
uig  a  constant  source  of  elevation  and  happiness  to  us  for  ever. 
But  the  *  Paradise  Lost'  has  not  this  effect  certainly  and  univer- 
sally; therefore  Addison  proposes  to  *set  before  an  English 
reader,  in  its  full  beauty,'  the  great  poem.     To  this  end  he  has 

*  taken  a  general  view  of  it  under  these  four  heads :  the  fable,  the 
^^haracters,  the  sentiments,  and  the  language.'  He  has,  more- 
over, 

'^esToored  not  only  to  prove  that  the  poem  is  beautiful  in  general, 
oQt  to  point  oat  its  particular  beauties  and  to  determine  wherein  they 
^^pQsist  I  have  endeavoured  to  show  how  some  passages  are  beau- 
tified by  being  sublime,  others  by  being  soft,  others  by  being  natural ; 
^hich  of  them  are  recommended  by  the  passion,  which  by  the  moral, 
^hich  by  the  sentiment,  and  which  by  the  expression.  I  have  likewise 
^deavoured  to  show  how  the  genius  of  the  poet  shines  by  a  happy 
^Yeniian,  or  distant  allusion,  or  a  judicious  imitation ;  how  he  has 
o^ed  or  improved  Homer  or  Virgil,  and  raises  his  own  imagination 
hy  the  use  which  he  has  made  of  several  poetical  passages  in  Scripture. 
1  ought  have  inserted  also  several  passages  in  Tasso  which  our  author 
has  imitated;  but  as  I  do  not  look  upon  Tasso  to  be  a  sufficient 

voucher, 


192  A  French  Critic  on  Milton. 

voucher,  I  would  not  perplex  my  reader  with  such  quotatioiiiB  as  ^^g*"^ 
do  more  honour  to  the  Itidian  than  the  English  poet.' 


This  is  the  sort  of  criticism  which  held  our  g^ndfathers 
great-grandfathers  spell-bound  in  solemn  reverence.     But  it 
all  based  upon  conventions,  and  on  the  positivism  of  the  modec* 
reader  it  is  thrown  away.     Does  the  work  which  you  praise, 
asks,  affect  me  with  high  pleasure  and  do  me  good,  when  I 
it  as  fairly  as  I  can  ?     The  critic  who  helps  such  a  question 
is  one  who  has  sincerely  asked  himself,  also,  this  same  questioi 
who  has  answered  it  in  a  way  which  agrees,  in  the  main,  wi 
what  the  questioner  finds  to  be  his  own  honest  experience  in 
matter,  and  who  shows  the  reasons  for  this  common  ezperien 
Where  is  the  use  of  telling  a  man,  who  finds  himself 
rather  than  delighted  by  ^  Paradise  Lost,'  that  the  incidents 
that  poem  *have  in  them  all  the  beauties  of  novelty,  at  t 
same  time  that  they  have  all  the  graces  of  nature ;'  that  *thoa^^ 
they  are  natural,  they  are  not  obvious,  which  is  the  true  cIm.si- 
racter  of  all  fine  writing?'     Where  is  the  use  of  telling  hi..iii 
that  ^  Adam  and  Eve  are  drawn  with  such  sentiments  as  do  not 
only  interest  the  reader  in  their  afflictions,  but  raise  in  him  tlae 
most  melting  passions  of  humanity  and  commiseration  ?'    FJis 
own  experience,  on  the  other   hand,  is  that  the  incidents  in 
*•  Paradise  Lost'  are  such  as  awaken  in  him  but  the  most  languid 
interest ;  and  that  the  afflictions  and  sentiments  of  Adam  and 
Eve  never  melt  or  move  him  passionately  at  all.     How  is  be 
advanced  by  hearing  that  ^  it  is  not  sufflcient  that  the  language 
of  an  epic  poem  be  perspicuous,  unless  it  be  also  sublime; 
and  that  Milton*s  language  is  both  ?     What  avails  it  to  assare 
him  that  ^  the  first  thing  to  be  considered  in  an  epic  poem  is 
the  fable,  which  is  perfect  or  imperfect,  according  as  the  action 
which  it  relates  is  more  or  less  so ;'  that  ^  this  action  should 
have  three  qualifications,  should  be  but  one  action,  an  entire 
action,  and  a  great  action  ; '  and  that  if  we  *  consider  the  action 
of  the  "  Iliad,"  "  iEneid,"  and  "  Paradise  Lost,"  in  these  three 
several  lights,  we  shall  find  that  Milton's  poem  does  not  bH 
short  in  the  beauties  which  are  essential  to  that  kind  of  writing? 
The  patient  whom  Addison  thus  doctors  will  reply,  that  he  doei 
not  care  two  straws  whether  the  action  of  '  Paradise  Lost'  vtisr 
fies  the  proposed  test  or  no,  if  the  poem  does  not  g^vc  him 
pleasure.     The  truth  is,  Addison's  criticism  goes  on  certain  con- 
ventions :  the  conventions,  that  incidents  of  a  certain  class  vnfl^ 
awaken  keen  interest ;  that  sentiments  of  a  certain  kind  if^ 
raise  melting  passions ;  !^that  language  of  a  certain  stain,  and  ai' 
action  with  certain  qualifications,  nmst  render  a  poem  attracti^ 


A  French  Critic  on  Milton,  193 

aud  effective.  Disregard  the  convention ;  ask  solely  whether 
the  incidents  do  interest,  whether  the  sentiments  do  move, 
whether  the  poem  is  attractive  and  effective,  and  Addison's 
criticism  collapses. 

Sometimes  the  convention  is  one  which  in  theory  ought, 
a  man  may  perhaps  admit,  to  be  something  more  than  a  conven- 
tion ;  but  which  yet  practically  is  not.  Milton's  poem  is  of  sur> 
pasting  interest  to  us,  says  Addison,  because  in  it  ^  the  principal 
actors  are  not  only  our  progenitors  but  our  representatives.  We 
faave  an  actual  interest  in  everything  they  do,  and  no  less  than 
OUT  utmost  happiness  is  concerned,  and  lies  at  stake,  in  all  their 
liehaTiour.'  Of  ten  readers  who  may  even  admit  that  in  theory 
this  is  so,  barely  one  can  be  found  whose  practical  experience 
tdls  him  that  Adam  and  Eve  do  really,  as  his  representatives, 
excite  his  interest  in  this  vivid  manner.  It  is  by  a  mere  con- 
vention, then,  that  Addison  supposes  them  to  do  so,  and  claims 
an  advantage  for  Milton's  poem  from  the  supposition. 

The  theological  speeches  in  the  third  book  of  'Paradise 
Loit'  are  not,  in  themselves,  attractive  poetry.  But,  says 
Addison, 

*  tiie  passions  which  they  are  designed  to  raise  are  a  divine  lovo 
sndidigious  fear.  The  particular  beauty  of  the  speeches  in  the 
third  book  consists  in  that  shortness  and  perspicuity  of  style  in  which 
^  poet  has  couched  the  greatest  mysteries  of  Christianity.  ...  He 
Itts  represented  all  the  abstruse  doctrines  of  predestination,  free-will, 
Ktd  grace,  as  also  the  great  points  of  incarnation  and  redemption 
(whidh  naturally  grow  up  in  a  poem  that  treats  of  the  fall  of  man) 
^th  great  energy  of  expression,  and  in  a  clearer  and  stronger  light 
^  I  ever  met  with  in  any  other  writer.* 

But  nine  readers  out  of  ten  feel  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
their  religious  sentiments  of  'divine  love  and  religious  fear' 
^  wholly  ineffectual  even  to  reconcile  them  to  the  poetical 
^tesomeness  of  the  speeches  in  question ;  far  less  can  they 
^lender  them  interesting.  It  is  by  a  mere  convention,  then,  that 
Edison  pretends  that  they  do. 

The  great  merit  of  Johnson's  criticism  on  Milton  is  that  from 
"ietoric  and  convention  it  is  free.  Mr.  Trevelyan  says  that  the  en- 
thosiasm  of  Macaulay's  ^  Essay  on  Milton'  is,  at  any  rate,  ^  a  relief 
^'om  the  perverted  ability  of  that  elaborate  libel  on  our  great  epic 
poet,  which  goes  by  the  name  of  Dr.  Johnson's  "  Life  of  Milton." ' 
TUs  is  too  much  in  Lord  Macaulay's  own  style.  In  Johnson's 
*Life  of  Milton  *  we  have.the  straightforward  remarks,  on  Milton 
*Qd  his  works,  of  a  very  acute  and  robust  mind.  Often  they 
^  thoroughly  sound.  *  What  we  know  of  Milton's  character 
^  domestic  relations  is  that  he  was  severe  and  arbitrary.     His 

Vol  148.— iVb.  285,  o  family 


194  A  French  Critic  on  Milton. 

family  consisted  of  women ;    and  there  appears  in  his  booki 
something  like  a  Turkish  contempt  of  females  as  subordinate 
and  inferior  beings.'   Mr.  Trevelyan  will  forgive  our  saying  that 
the  truth  is  here   much  better  hit,  than  in  Lord  Macanla/s 
sentence  telling  us  how  Milton's  ^  conception  of  love  unites  all 
the  voluptuousness  of  the  Oriental  haram,  and  all  the  gallantrj 
of  the  chivalric  tournament,  with  all  the  pure  and  quiet  affixy 
tion  of  an  English  fireside.'      But  Johnson's  mind,  acute  and 
robust  as  it  was,  was  at  many  points  bounded,  at  many  pointi 
warped.  He  was  neither  sufficiently  disinterested  nor  suffidendj 
flexible,  nor  sufficiently  receptive,  to  be  a  satisfying  critic  m 
a  poet  like  Milton.     ^  Surely  no  man  could  have  fancied  that 
he  read  Lycidas  with  pleasure,  had  he  not  known  the  author  t' 
Terrible  sentence  for  revealing  the  deficiencies  of  the  critic  who 
utters  it ! 

A  completely  disinterested  judgment  about  a  man  likeMiltoa 
is  easier  to  a  foreign  critic  than  to  an  Englishman.  From  con* 
ventional  obligation  to  admire  '  our  great  epic  poet '  a  foreigner 
is  free.  Nor  has  he  any  bias  for  or  against  Milton  because  he 
was  a  Puritan — in  his  political  and  ecclesiastical  doctrinei 
to  one  of  our  great  English  parties  a  delight,  to  the  other  an 
offence.  But  a  critic  must  have  the  requisite  knowledge  of 
the  man  and  the  works  he  is  to  judge ;  and  from  a  foreigner— 
particularly,  perhaps,  from  a  Frenchman — one  hardly  expects 
such  knowledge.  M.  Edmond  Scherer,  however,  whose  '  Essaj 
on  Milton '  lies  before  us,  is  an  exceptional  Frenchman.  He  is  a 
senator,  of  France  and  one  of  the  directors  of  the  *  Temps  *  news- 
paper. But  he  comes  originally  from  Geneva,  that  home  of  large 
instruction  and  lucid  intelligence.  He  was  in  youth  the  friend  and 
hearer  of  Alexandre  Vinet, — one  of  the  most  salutary  inflaences 
a  man  in  our  time  can  have  experienced,  whether  he  continue  to 
think  quite  as  Vinet  thought  or  not.  He  knows  thoroughly  the 
language  and  literature  of  England,  Italy,  Germany,as  well  as  of 
France.  Well-informed,  intelligent,  disinterested,  open-minded, 
sympathetic,  M.  Scherer  has  much  in  common  with  the  admirable 
critic  whom  France  has  lost — Sainte-Beuve.  What  he  has 
not,  as  a  critic,  is  Sainte-Beuvc's  elasticity  and  cheerfulness. 
He  has  not  that  gaiety,  that  radiancy,  as  of  a  man  discharging 
with  delight  the  very  office  for  which  he  was  bom,  which,  in 
the  '  Causeries,'  make  Sainte-Beuve's  touch  so  felicitous,  his 
sentences  so  crisp,  his  effect  so  charming.  But  M.  Scherer  has 
the  same  open-mindedness  as  Sainte-Beuve,  the  same  finnne* 
and  sureness  of  judgment ;  and  having  a  much  more  solid 
acquaintance  with  foreign  languages  than  Sainte-Beuve,  he  can 
much  better   appreciate   a   work  like  *  Paradise  Lost'  in  the 

onl; 


A  French  Critic  an  JMiltan.  195 

form   in  which  it  can   be   appreciated   properly — in   the 
inal. 

Je  will  commence,  however,  by  disagreeing  with  M.  Scherer. 
sees  very  clearly  how  vain  is  Lord  Macaulay's  sheer  lauda- 
i  of  Milton,  or  Voltaire's  sheer  disparagement  of  him.  Such 
pnents,  M.  Scherer  truly  says,  are  not  judgments  at  all. 
ij  merely  express  a  personal  sensation  of  like  or  dislike. 
1  M.  Scherer  goes  on  to  recommend,  in  the  place  of  such 
nonal  sensations,'  the  method  of  historical  criticism — that 
at  and  famous  power  in  the  present  day.  He  sings  the 
iies  of  'this  method  at  once  more  conclusive  and  more 
itable,  which  sets  itself  to  understand  things  rather  than  to 
n  them,  to  explain  rather  than  to  judge  them ;  which  seeks 
iGCount  for  a  work  from  the  genius  of  its  author,  and  for  the 
1  which  this  genius  has  taken  from  the  circumstances  amidst 
xh.  it  was  developed ;'  the  old  story  of  the  *  man  and  the 
Ceo,'  in  short.  *  For  thus,'  M.  Scherer  continues,  '  out  of 
le  two  things,  the  analysis  of  the  writer's  character  and  the 
ly  of  his  age,  there  spontaneously  issues  the  right  under- 
iding  of  his  work.  In  place  of  an  appreciation  thrown  off 
lome  chance  comer,  we  have  the  work  passing  judgment,  so 
peak,  upon  itself,  and  assuming  the  rank  which  belongs  to 
mong  the  productions  of  the  human  mind.' 
lie  advice  to  study  the  character  of  an  author  and  the  cir- 
istances  in  which  he  has  lived,  in  order  to  account  to  one's  self 
his  work,  is  excellent  But  it  is  a  perilous  doctrine,  that 
a  such  a  study  the  right  understanding  of  his  work  will 
Dntaneously  issue.'  In  a  mind  qualified  in  a  certain  manner 
ill,  not  in  all  minds.  And  it  will  be  that  mind's  '  personal 
lation.'  It  cannot  be  said  that  Macaulay  had  not  studied 
character  of  Milton,  and  the  history  of  the  times  in  which 
ived.  But  a  right  understanding  of  Milton  did  not '  spon- 
ionsly  issue'  therefrom  in  the  mind  of  Macaulay,  because 
mind  was  that  of  a  rhetorician,  not  of  a  disinterested  critic. 
US  not  confound  the  method  with  the  result  intended  by  the 
hod — ^right  judgments.  The  critic  who  rightly  appreciates 
neat  man  or  a  great  woik,  and  who  can  tell  us  faithfully,  life 
dg  long  and  art  short  and  false  information  very  plentiful, 
It  we  may  expect  from  their  study  and  what  they  can  do  for 
he  is  the  critic  we  want,  by  whatever  methods,  intuitive  or 
torical,  he  may  have  managed  to  get  his  knowledge. 
il.  Scherer  begins  with  Milton's  prose  works,  from  which  he 
Dslates  many  passages.  Milton's  sentences  can  hardly  know 
mselves  again  in  clear  modern  French,  and  with  all  their 
rernons  and  redundancies  gone.     M.  Scherer  does  full  justice 

O  2  to 


196  A  French  Critic  on  MiUan. 

to  the  glow  and  mighty  eloquence  with  which  Milton's  prote^ 
its  good  moments,  is  instinct  and  alive ;  to  the  '  magmfioeii 
of  his  style/  as  he  calls  them : — 

'  The  expression  is  not  too  strong.  There  are  momenii  lAi 
shaking  from  him  the  dost  of  his  argoments,  the  poet  bursts  sndla 
forth,  and  bears  us  away  in  a  torrent  of  incomparable  eloqnflnoai  1 
get,  not  the  phrase  of  the  orator,  bat  the  glow  of  the  poet,  a  flood 
images  poui^  aronnd  his  arid  theme,  a  rushing  flignt  oarryiui  \ 
aboye  his  paltry  controversies.  The  polemical  writings  of  IQb 
are  filled  with  such  beauties.  The  prayer  which  oondudei  fl 
treatise  on  Reformation  in  England,  the  praise  of  seal  in  the  Apokg 
for  Smectymnus,  the  portrait  of  Cromwell  in  the  Second  Danoea  ( 
the  English  People,  and,  finally,  the  whole  tract  on  the  Libei^  i 
Unlicensed  Printing  from  beginning  to  end,  are  some  of  the  us 
memorable  pages  in  English  literaturo  and  some  of  the  most  ch 
racteristic  products  of  the  genius  of  Milton.' 

Macaulay  himself  could  hardly  praise  the  eloquence  of  Mil 
ton's  prose  writings  more  warmly.  But  it  is  a  very  inadeqnl 
criticism  which  leaves  the  reader,  as  Macaulay's  rhetoric  iroil 
leave  him,  with  the  belief  that  the  total  impression  to  be  gc 
from  Milton's  prose  writings  is  one  of  enjoyment  and  admin 
tion.  It  is  not ;  we  are  misled,  and  our  time  is  wasted,  if  v 
are  sent  to  Milton's  prose  works  in  the  expectation  of  findiiig  i 
so.  Grand  thoughts  and  beautiful  lang^uage  do  not  form  tfa 
staple  of  Milton's  controversial  treatises,  though  they  occur  i 
them  not  unfrequently.  But  the  total  impression  from  thoi 
treatises  is  rightly  given  by  M.  Scherer  : — 

Iniiigi 


play  the  treasures  of  his  learning,  heaping  together  testimonies  froi 
Scripture,  passages  from  the  Fathers,  quotations  from  the  po0ti 
laying  all  antiquity,  sacred  and  profane,  under  contribution ;  entflris 
into  sabtle  discussions  on  the  sense  of  this  or  that  Greek  or  Hebf 
word.  But  not  only  by  his  undigested  erudition  and  by  his  absorpito 
in  religious  controversy  does  Milton  belong  to  his  age ;  he  bekni 
to  it,  too,  by  the  personal  tone  of  his  polemics.  Moms  and  Salmiiii 
had  attacked  his  morals,  laughed  at  his  low  staturo,  made  unfiD^ 
allusions  to  his  loss  of  sight ;  Milton  roplies  by  reproaching  ths 
with  the  wages  they  have  taken  and  with  the  seryant-girls  thqr  ^"^ 
debauched.  All  this  mixed  with  coarse  witticisms,  wii^  terms  of  tl 
lowest  abuse.  Luther  and  Calvin,  those  virtuosos  of  insult,  htd  tt 
gone  farther.' 

No  doubt  there  is,  as  M.  Scherer  says,  ^  something  indeict 
bably  heroical  and  magnificent  which  overflows  from  MiltoUiefC 
when  he  is  engaged  in  the  most  miserable  discussions.'  Sdl 
for  the  mass  of  his  prose  treatises,  miserable  discuuiaiu  if  tl 

fin 


A  French  Critic  on  Milton.  197 

'final  and  right  word.  Nor,  when  Milton  passed  to  his  great  epic, 
did  be  altogether  leave  the  old  man  of  these  ^  miserable  discus- 
mos'  behind  him : — 


<In  his  soul  he  is  a  polemist  and  theologian;  a  Protestant 
'Sdoolnuai.  He  takes  delist  in  the  &Yoarite  dogmas  of  Puritanism 
—original  sin,  predestination,  £ree-wilL  Not  that  even  here  he  docs 
•ot  &play  somewhat  of  that  independence  which  was  in  his  natorc. 
Ill  Us  theology  is,  nevertheless,  that  of  his  epoch,  tied  and  bonnd  to 
kskUer  of  Holy  Writ,  without  grandeur,  without  horisons,  without 
.^Oosophy.  He  never  frees  himself  from  the  bondage  of  the  letter. 
Hb  set&es  the  most  important  questions  by  the  authority  of  au 
ohcnre  text,  or  a  text  isolated  from  its  context.  In  a  word,  Miltou 
lit  great  poet  with  a  Salmasius  or  a  Grotius  bound  up  along  with 
Un;  a  genius  nourished  on  the  marrow  of  lions,  of  Homer,  Isaialj, 
Tii|^  Dante,  but  also,  like  the  serpent  of  Eden,  eating  dust,  the 
dmt  of  dismal  polemics.  He  is  a  doctor,  a  preacher,  a  man  of 
4idictics ;  and  when  the  day  shall  arrive  when  he  can  at  last  realise 
die  dreams  of  his  youth  and  bestow  on  his  country  an  epic  poem,  he 
will  eompose  it  of  two  elements,  gold  and  clay,  sublimity  and  scholas- 
tiaan,  and  will  bequeath  to  us  a  poem  which  is  at  once  the  most 
underfill  and  the  most  insupportable  poem  in  existence.' 

From  the  first,  two  conflicting  forces,  two  sources  of  inspira- 
tion, had  contended  with  one  another,  says  M.  Scherer,  for  the 
PoiKssion  of  Milton — the  Renaissance  and  Puritanism.  Milton 
ttlt  the  power  of  both  : — 

*  Elegant  poet  and  passionate  disputant,  accomplished  humanist 
vA  narrow  sectary,  a^irer  of  Petrarch,  of  Shakspeare,  and  hair- 
ipBtting  interpreter  of  Bible-texts,  smitten  with  pagan  antiquity  and 
flnitten  with  the  Hebrew  genius;  and  all  this  at  the  same  time, 
without  effort,  naturally ;  an  historical  problem,  a  literary  enigma ! ' 

Hilton's  early  poems,  such  as  the  *  Allegro,'  the  *  Penseroso,' 
are  poems  produced  while  a  sort  of  equilibrium  still  prevailed 
In  Uie  poet's  nature;  hence  their  charm,  and  that  of  their 
jOQthful  author : — 

'Nothing  morose  or  repellent,  piurity  without  excess  of  rigour, 
gratify  without  fanaticism.  Something  wholesome  and  virginal, 
gTMnous  and  yet  strong.  A  son  of  the  North  who  has  passed  the 
way  of  Italy ;  a  last  fmi  of  the  Renaissance,  but  a  fruit  filled  with 
t  savour  new  and  strange  I' 

Milton  arrived  at  the  latter  years  of  his  life,  a  life  which  in 
its  ontward  fortunes  darkened  more  and  more,  alia  s^assambrissant 
dij^us  enpltu^  towards  its  close.  He  arrived  at  the  time  when 
*  his  friends  had  disappeared,  his  dreams  had  vanished,  his  eye- 
sight was  quenched,  the  hand  of  old  age  was  upon  him.'  It 
was  then  that,  '  isolated  by  the  very  force  of  his  genius,'  but  full 

of 


198  A  French  Critic  on  MiUon. 

oi  faith  and  fervour,  he  '  turned  his  eyes  towards  the 
light '  and  produced  '  Paradise  Lost.'  In  its  form,  M.  Sdieier 
observes,  in  its  plan  and  distribution,  the  poem  follows  Gnek 
and  Roman  models,  particularly  the  ^  JKneidJ  ^  All  in  dui 
respect  is  regular  and  classical ;  in  this  fidelity  to  the  established 
models  we  recognise  the  literary  superstitions  of  the  *  Renai** 
sance.'  So  far  as  its  form  is  concerned,  ^  Paradise  Lost'  is,  nj* 
M.  Scherer,  ^  the  copy  of  a  copy,  a  tertiary  formation.  It  ii  to 
the  Latin  epics  what  these  are  to  Homer.' 

The  most  important  matter,  however,  is  the  contents  of  die 
poem,  not  the  form.  The  contents  are  given  by  ParitaiiiiDi«> 
But  let  M.  Scherer  speak  for  himself : — 

'  Paradise  Lost  is  an  epic,  but  a  theological  epic ;  and  the  theolosf 
of  the  poem  is  made  up  of  Uio  favourite  dogmas  of  the  Porittos— & 
Fall,  justification,  God's  sovereign  decroes.  Milton,  for  that  mMs^ 
avows  openly  that  ho  has  a  thesis  to  Tnaintain  ;  his  object  is,  he  teUi  tf 
at  the  outset,  to  "  assert  Eternal  Providence  and  justify  the  ways  of  God 
to  man."  '*  Paradise  Lost,"  then,  is  two  distinct  things  in  one — an  «pie 
and  a  theodicy.  Unfortunately,  these  two  elements,  which  correspond 
to  the  two  men  of  whom  Milton  was  composed,  and  to  the  two  ten* 
dencies  which  ruled  his  century,  these  two  elements  have  not  maaigBd 
to  get  amalgamated.  Far  from  doing  so,  they  clash  with  one  anotei 
and  from  their  juxtaposition  there  results  a  suppressed  contradiotka 
which  extends  to  the  whole  work,  impairs  its  solidity,  and  eoojiO' 
mises  its  value.' 

M.  Scherer  gives  his  reasons  for  thinking  that  the  ChriitiaD 
theology  is  unmanageable  in  an  epic  poem,  although  the  gods  may 
come  in  very  well  in  the  *  Iliad '  and  *  -^neid.'  Few  will  diftr 
from  him  here,  so  we  pass  on.  A  theological  poem  is  a  mistake^ 
says  M.  Scherer ;  but  to  call  '  Paradise  Lost'  a  theological  poem 
is  to  call  it  by  too  large  a  name.  It  is  really  a  commenttfj  <Hi 
a  biblical  text — the  first  two  or  three  chapters  of  Genesis.  It* 
subject  is  a  story,  taken  literally,  which  many  of  even  the  moit 
religious  people  nowadays  hesitate  to  take  literally ;  while  jet» 
upon  our  being  able  to  take  it  literally,  the  whole  real  intereitj^'^ 
the  poem  for  us  depends.  Merely  as  matter  of  poetry,  the  sti^ 
of  the  Fall  has  no  special  force  or  effectiveness  ;  its  efiiBctiveneia 
for  us  comes  from  our  taking  it  all  as  the  literal  narrative  <^ 
what  positively  happened. 

Milton,  M.  Scherer  thinks,  was  not  strong  in  invention.    Th^ 

famous  allegory  of  Sin  and  Death  may  be  taken  as  a  specimen  oi 

what  he  could  do  in  this  line,  and  the  allegory  of  Sin  and  Death 

is  uncouth  and  unpleasing.     But  invention  is  dangerous  when 

one  is  dealing  with  a  subject  so  grave,  so  strictly  formulated  by 

theology,  as  the  subject  of  Milton's  choice.     Our  poet  felt  thi% 

and 


A  French  Critic  on  Milton,  199 

tnd  allowed  little  scope  to  free  poetical  invention.  He  adhered 
in  general  to  data  furnished  by  Scripture,  and  supplemented 
lomewhat  bj  Jewish  legend.  But  this  judicious  self-limitation 
bd,  again,  its  drawbacks : — 

<  If  Milton  has  avoided  Petitions  inventions,  he  has  done  so  at  the 
price  of  another  disadvantage ;  the  bareness  of  his  story,  the  epic 
poierij  of  his  poem.  It  is  not  merely  that  the  reader  is  carried  up 
into  the  sphere  of  religions  abstractions,  where  man  loses  power  to 
ne  or  breathe.  Independently  of  this,  everything  is  here  too  simple, 
bodi  actors  and  action.  Strictly  speaking,  there  is  but  one  personage 
before  us,  God  the  Father ;  inasmuch  as  God  cannot  appear  without 
e&cing  eveij  one  else,  nor  speak  without  the  accomplishment  of  his 
vilL  The  Son  is  but  the  Father's  double.  The  angels  and  arch- 
iDgels  are  but  his  messengers,  nay,  they  are  less ;  they  are  but  his 
deerees  personified,  the  supernumeraries  of  a  drama  which  would  be 
tnuisacted  quite  as  well  witibout  them. 

*  Milton  has  struggled  against  these  conditions  of  the  subject  which 
be  had  chosen.  He  has  tried  to  escape  from  them,  and  has  only 
Bide  the  drawback  more  visible.  The  long  speeches  with  which  ho 
fflls  np  the  gaps  of  the  action  are  sermons,  and  serve  but  to  reveal  the 
ibsenoe  of  action.  Then,  as,  after  all,  some  action,  some  struggle,  was 
Moefleazy,  the  poet  had  recourse  to  the  revolt  of  the  angels.  Unfortu- 
tttely,  such  is  the  fundamental  vice  of  the  subject,  that  the  poet's 
Qtttroment  has,  one  may  say,  turned  against  him.  What  his  action 
bu  gained  from  it  in  movement  it  has  lost  in  probability.  We  see  a 
bettle,  indeed,  but  who  can  take  either  the  combat  or  the  combatants 
eerionsly?  Belial  shows  his  sense  of  this,  when  in  the  infernal 
comicil  he  rejects  the  idea  of  engaging  in  any  conflict  whatever,  open 
or  flecret,  witii  Him  who  is  Allseeing  and  Almighty ;  and  really  one 
^vmi  comprehend  how  his  mates  should  have  failed  to  acquiesce  in 
t  consideration  so  evident.  Bat,  I  repeat,  the  poem  was  not  possible 
ttTe  at  the  price  of  this  impossibility.  Milton,  therefore,  has  cou* 
iftgeonsly  made  the  best  of  it  He  has  gone  with  it  all  lengths,  he 
btt  accepted  in  all  its  extreme  consequences  the  most  inadmissible  of 
'^ODs.  He  has  exhibited  to  us  Jehovah  apprehensive  for  his  omni- 
Pjtooe,  in  fear  of  seeing  his  position  turned,  his  residence  surprised, 
'OB  throne  usurped.  He  has  drawn  the  angels  hurling  mountains  at 
one  another's  heads,  and  firiag  cannon  at  one  another.  He  has  shown 
^  the  victory  doubtful  until  the  Son  appears  armed  with  lightnings, 
^  standing  on  a  car  horsed  by  four  Cherubim.' 

The  fault  of  Milton's  poem  is  not,  says  M.  Scherer,  that  with 
Ui  Calvinism  of  the  seventeenth  century  Milton  was  a  man 
Mding  other  beliefs  than  ours.  Homer,  Dante,  held  other  beliefs 
4an  ours : — 

'But  Milton's  position  is  not  the  same  as  theirs.  Milton  has 
f^^i&eihing  he  wants  to  prove,  he  supports  a  thesis.  It  was  his  intention, 
^  his  poem,  to  do  duty  as  theologian  as  well  as  poet ;  at  any  rate, 

whether 


200  A  French  Critic  on  JMtUon. 

whether  he  meant  it  or  not, ''  Paradise  Lost "  is  a  didactic  woric,  i 
the  form  of  it,  therefore,  cannot  be  separated  from  the  snbatai 
Now,  it  tarns  out  that  the  idea  of  the  poem  will  not  bear  examinatt 
that  its  solution  for  the  problem  of  evii  is  almost  burlesque ;  that 
character  of  its  heroes,  Jehoyah  and  Satan,  has  no  ooherenoe;  i 
what  happens  to  Adam  interests  us  bnt  little ;  finally,  that  the  ad 
takes  place  in  regions  where  the  interests  and  passions  of  our  codu 
humanity  can  haye  no  scope.  I  haye  already  insisted  on  this  ocm 
diction  in  Milton's  epic;  the  stoiy  on  which  it  turns  can  l 
meaning  and  yalue  only  so  long  as  it  preseryes  its  dogmatic  W6i| 
and,  at  the  same  time,  it  cannot  presenre  this  without  iklling  i 
theology — that  is  to  say,  into  a  domain  foreign  to  that  of  art.  ' 
subject  of  the  poem  is  nothing  if  it  is  not  real,  and  if  it  does 
touch  us  as  the  turning-point  of  our  destinies ;  and  the  more 
poet  seeks  to  grasp  this  reality,  the  more  it  escapes  from  him.' 

In  short,  the  whole  poem  of  *  Paradise  Lost '  is  vitiated,  s 
M.  Soberer,  '  by  a  kind  of  antinomy,  by  the  conjoint  neoeti 
and  impossibility  of  taking  its  contents  literally.' 

M.  Soberer  then  proceeds  to  sum  up.  And  in  ending,  al 
having  once  more  marked  his  objections  and  accentuated  th( 
he  at  last  finds  again  that  note  of  praise,  which  our  readers  i 
imagine  him  to  have  quite  lost : — 

'  To  sum  up :  **  Paradise  Lost*'  is  a  false  poem,  a  grotesque  po 
a  tiresome  poem ;  there  is  not  one  reader  out  of  a  hundred  who 
read  the  ninth  and  tenth  books  without  smiling,  or  the  eleventh 
twelfth  without  yawning.  The  whole  thing  is  without  solidity ;  i 
a  pyramid  resting  on  its  apex,  the  most  solemn  of  problems  reml 
by  the  most  puerile  of  means.  And,  notwithstanding,  '*  Paradise  Lo 
is  immortaL  It  lives  by  a  certain  number  of  episodes  which  aie 
ever  famous.  Unlike  Dante,  who  must  be  read  as  a  whole  if  we  n 
really  to  seize  his  beauties,  Milton  ought  to  be  read  only  by  passa, 
But  these  passages  form  part  of  the  poetical  patrimony  of  the  hoi 
race.' 

And  not   only  in   things  like  the   address  to  light,  or 
speeches  of  Satan,  is  Milton  admirable,  but  in  single  lines  i 
images  everywhere : — 

'*' Paradise  Lost"  is  studded  with  incomparable  lines.  Milt 
poetry  is,  as  it  were,  the  very  essence  of  poetry.  The  author  se 
to  think  always  in  images,  and  these  images  are  grand  and  pr 
like  his  soul,  a  wonderftd  mixture  of  the  sublime  and  the  pictures 
For  rendering  things  he  has  the  unique  word,  the  word  which 
discovery.     Every  one  knows  his  darJcncss  visible.' 

M.  Scherer  cites  other  famous  expressions  and  lines, 
familiar  that  we  need  not  quote  them  here.  Expressions  of 
kind,  he  says,  not  •  only  beautiful,  but  always,  in  addition 
their  beauty,  striking  one  as  the  absolutely  right  thing  (tai^ 


A  French  Critic  on  JHUotl  201 

Juuia  dans  leur  beatU^y  are   in  'Paradise   Lost'  innumerable. 
.A.nd  he  concludes : — 

'  MoieoTer,  we  baye  not  said  all  wben  we  have  cited  pnrticular 
lues  of  Hilton.  He  bas  not  only  tbe  image  and  tbe  word,  be  bas 
^lie  period  also,  tbe  large  musical  pbrase,  somewbat  long,  somewbat 
liadim  with  ornaments  and  intricate  with  inversions,  but  bearing  all 
sfclQiig  with  it  in  its  superb  undulation.  Lastly,  and  above  all,  be  has 
ja  flomeihing  indescribably  serene  and  victorious,  an  unfailing  level  of 
«tjle,  power  indomitable.  He  seems  to  wrap  us  in  a  fold  of  bis 
>be,  and  to  carry  us  away  with  him  into  the  eternal  regions  where 

bis  home.' 


With  this  fine  image  M.  Scberer  takes  leave  of  Milton.     Yet 

tlxe  simple  description  of  the  man  in  Johnson's  '  Life '  of  him 

touches  us  more  than  any  image ;  the  description  of  the  old 

poet  'seen  in  a  small  bouse,  neatly  enough  dressed  in  black 

cl<ithes,  sitting  in  a  room  bung  with  rusty  green,  pale  but  not 

oadaverous,  with  chalk  stones  in  his  hand.     He  said  that,  if  it 

were  not  for  the  gout  his  blindness  would  be  tolerable.' 

But  in  his  last  sentences  M.  Scberer  comes  upon  what  is  un- 
doubtedly Milton's  true  distinction  as  a  poet,  his  '  unfailing  level 
of  style.'  Milton  has  always  the  sure,  strong  touch  of  the 
coaster.  His  power  both  of  diction  and  of  rhythm  is  unsur- 
passable, and  it  is  characterised  by  being  always  present,  not 
depending  on  an  access  of  emotion,  not  intermittent ;  but,  like 
the  grace  of  Raphael,  working  in  its  possessor  as  a  constant 
^t  of  nature.  Milton's  style  has  the  same  propriety  and 
soundness  in  presenting  plain  matters,  as  in  the  comparatively 
fOiootb  task  for  a  poet  of  presenting  grand  ones.  His  rhythm 
**  ^  admirable  where,  as  in  the  line 

*  And  Tiresias  and  Phinens,  prophets  old * 

^  u  unusual,  as  in  such  lines  as^- 

*  With  dreadful  faces  throng'd,  and  fiery  arms ' 


J^l^ere  it  is  simplest  And  what  high  praise  this  is,  we  may 
"^t  appreciate  by  considering  tbe  ever-recurring  failure,  both  in 
J^Jtkm  and  in  diction,  which  we  find  in  the  so-called  Miltonic 
Wauk  verse  of  Thomson,  Cowper,  Wordsworth.  What  leagues 
?^  lumbering  movement!  what  desperate  endeavours,  as  in 
^Wordsworth's 

*  And  at  tbe  "  Hoop  "  alighted,  famous  inn,' 

^  >^nder  a  platitude  endurable  by  making  it  pompous  I  Shak- 
*P^^iie  himself,  divine  as  are  his  gifts,  has  not,  of  the  marks  of  the 

master, 


202  A  French  Critic  on  Mltan. 

master,  this  one  :  perfect  sureness  of  hand  in  his  style.    Alone  o 
English  poets,  alone  in  English  art,  Milton  has  it ;  he  is  our  grea- 
artist  in  style,  our  one  first-rate  master  in  the  grand  style.     He  is 
as  truly  a  master  in  this  style  as  the  great  Greeks  are,  or  Virgil 
or  Dante.     The  number  of  such  masters  is  so  limited,  that  a 
acquires  a  world-rank  in  poetry  and  art,  instead  of  a  mere  I 
rank,  by  being  counted  to  them.     But  Milton's  importance  to 
Englishmen,  by  virtue  of  this  distinction  of  his,  is  incalcolable 
The  charm  of  a  master's  unfailing  touch  in  diction  and  in  rhythm 
no  one,  after  all,  can  feel  so  intimately,  so  profoundly,  as  his  o 
countrymen.     Invention,  plan,  wit,  pathos,  thought,  all  of  th 
are  in  great  measure  capable  of  being  detached  from  the  ori^na — 

1.     Die- 


work  itself,  and  of  being  exported  for  admiration  abroad 
tion  and  rhythm  are  not.     Even  when  a  foreigner  can  read  thi 
work  in  its  own  language,  they  are  not  perhaps  easily  app 
ciable  by  him.     It  shows  M.  Schercr's  thorough  knowledge 
English,  and  his  critical  sagacity  also,  that  he  has  felt  the  fo: 
of  them  in  Milton.     We  natives  must  naturally  feel  it  yet  moi 
powerfully.     Be  it  remembered,  too,  that  English  literature,  fi 
of  vigour  and  genius  as  it  is,  is  peculiarly  impaired  by  groping^^T 
and  inadequacies  in  form.  For  the  English  artist  in  any 
if  he  is  a  true  artist,  the  study  of  Milton  may  well  have 
indescribable  attraction.     It  gives  him  lessons  which  nowl 
else  from   an  Englishman's  work  can  he   obtain,  and  feeds 
sense  which  English  literature,  in  general,  seems  too  much 
on  disappointing  and  baffling.     And  this  sense  is  yet  so  di 
seated  in  human  nature — this  sense  of  style — that  probably  m 
for  artists  alone,  but  for  all   intelligent  Englishmen  who  rea 
him,  its  gratification  by  Milton's  poetry  is  a  large  though  oft^ 
not  fully  recognised  part  of  his  charm,  and  a  very  wholesoi 
and  fruitful  one. 

As  a  man,  too,  not  less  than  a  poet  Milton  has  a  side  of  unsa. 
passable  grandeur.  A  master's  touch  is  the  gift  of  nature.     Mor: 
qualities,  it  is  commonly  thought,  are  in  our  own  power.    Perhs" 
the  germs  of  such  qualities  are  in  their  greater  or  less  strength 
much  a  part  of  our  natural  constitution  as  the  sense  for  style, 
range  open  to  our  own  will  and  power,  however,  in  developix»g 
and  establishing  them,  is  evidently  much  larger.     Some  mox^ 
qualities  are  certainly  connected  in  a  man  with  his  power    of 
style.     Milton's  power  of  style,  for  instance,  has  for  its  g*^?^ 
character  elevation  ;    and  Milton's  elevation  clearly  comeSy   ^ 
the  main,  from  a  moral  quality  in  him — his  pureness.     *  ^^J 
pureness,  by  kindness ! '  says  St.  Paul.     These  two,  pureness  •^ 
kindness,  are,  in  very  truth,  the  two  signal  Christian  virtues^  *^ 
two  mighty  wings  of  Christianity,  with  which  it  winnowed  •^ 

renc^^' 


A  French  Critic  on  MUan.  203 

renewed,  and  still  winnows  and  renews,  the  world.    In  kindness, 
and  in  ^1  which  that  word  conveys  or  suggests,  Milton  does  not 
shine.     He  had  the  temper  of  his  Puritan  party.     We  often  hear 
the  boast,  on  behalf  of  the  Puritans,  that  they  produced  ^our 
great  epic  poet'      Alas !    one  might  not  unjustly  retort  that 
they  spoiled  him.     However,  let  Milton  bear  his  own  burden  ; 
in  his  temper  he  had  natural  affinities  with  the  Puritans.     He 
has  paid  for  it  by  limitations  as  a  poet.     But,  on  the  other  hand, 
hofv  high,  clear,  and  splendid  is  his  pureness ;  and  how  inti- 
mately does  its  might  enter  into  the  voice  of  his  poetry  !     We 
have  quoted  some  ill-conditioned  passages  from  his  prose,  let  us 
quote  from  it  a  passage  of  another  stamp  : — 

'  And  long  it  was  not  after,  when  I  was  confirmed  in  this  opinion, 
tliat  he,  who  would  not  be  frustrate  of  his  hope  to  write  well  hereafter 
Ui  laudable  things,  ought  himself  to  be  a  true  poem  ;  that  is,  a  com- 
position and  pattern  of  the  best  and  honourablcst  things ;  not  pre- 
Bmning  to  sing  high  praises  of  heroic  men,  or  famous  cities,  unless 
lie  have  in  himself  the  experience  and  the  practice  of  all  that  which 
^A  pxaifieworthy.    These  reasonings,  together  with  a  certain  niceness 
^  nature,  an  honest  haughtiness  and  self-esteem,  either  of  what  I  was 
^'   ^hat  I  might  be  ^hich  let  envy  call  pride),  and  lastly  that 
'Modesty  whereof  here  I  may  be  excused  to  make  some  beseeming 
pX'ofession ;  all  these  uniting  the  supply  of  their  natural  aid  together 
l^ept  me  still  above  low  descents  of  mind.     Next  (for  hear  me  out 
^o^  readers),  that  I  may  tell  ye  whither  my  younger  feet  wandered ; 
^  l>etook  mo  among  those  lofty  fables  and  romances  which  recount  in 
Solemn  cantos  the  deeds  of  knighthood  founded  by  our  victorious 
^^^^  and  from  hence  had  in  renown  over  all  Christendom.     There 
^    *«-^  it  in  the  oath  of  every  knight  that  he  should  defend  to  the  * 


^^^pense  of  his  best  blood,  or  of  his  life  if  it  so  befell  him,  the 
*^onoiir  and  chastity  of  virgin  or  matron ;  from  whence  even  then  I 
'"'^^Hit  what  a  noble  virtue  chastity  sure  must  be,  to  the  defence  of 
^^Hich  80  many  worthies  by  such  a  dear  adventure  of  themselves  had 
^^Qrn.  Only  this  my  mind  gave  me,  that  every  free  and  gentle  spirit, 
^^thont  that  oath,  ought  to  be  born  a  knight,  nor  needed  to  expect  the 
^It  spur,  or  the  laying  of  a  sword  upon  his  shoulder,  to  stir  him  up 
^^th  by  his  counsel  and  his  arm  to  secure  and  protect  the  weakness 
^<  any  attempted  chastity.' 

IVfere  fine  professions  are  in  this  department  of  morals  more 
?j5»lmon  and  more  worthless  than  in  any  other.  What  gives  to 
"Hilton's  professions  such  a  stamp  of  their  own  is  their  accent  of 
^bsolute  sincerity.     In  this  elevated  strain  of  moral  pureness  his 

v^  was  really  pitched  ;  its  strong,  immortal  beauty  passed  into 

^^e  diction  and  rhythm  of  his  poetry. 

-^But  we  did  not  propose  to  write  a  criticism  of  our  own  upon 

^•^ilton.     We  proposed  to  recite  and  compare  the  criticisms  on 


hlTTI 


204  A  French  CrUic  on  MUon. 

him  by  others.     Only  we  have  been  tempted,  after  our  many" 
extracts  from  M.  Scherer,  in  whose  criticism  of  Milton  the 
of  blame  fills  so  much  more  place  than  the  note  of  praise, 
accentuate  this  note  of  praise,  which  M .  Scherer  touches,  i 
with  justness,  but  hardly,  we  think,  draws  out  fully  enough 
presses  firmly  enough.     As  a  poet  and  as  a  man,  Milton  has 
side  of  grandeur  so  high  and  rare,  as  to  g^ve  him  rank  alooi 
with  the  half-dozen  greatest  poets  who  have  ever  lived,  althoi 
to  their  masterpieces  his  ^  Paradise  Lost '  is,  in  the  fulfilment 
the  complete  range  of  conditions  which  a  great  poem  ought 
satisfy,  indubitably  inferior.     Nothing  is  gained  by  huddling  oi 
'  our  gpreat  epic  poet,'  in  a  promiscuous  heap,  every  sort  of  praise 
Sooner  or  later  the  question :  How  does  Milton's  masterpi 
really  stand  to  us  moderns,  what  arc  we  to  think  of  it,  what 
we  get  from  it  ?  must  inevitably  be  asked  and  answered.     Wi 
have  marked  that  side  of  the  answer  which  is  and  will  alwa. 
remain  favourable  to  Milton.     The    unfavourable  side  of  tl 
answer  is  supplied  by  M.  Scherer.     ^  '^  Paradise  Lost "  lives ;  bai 
none  the  less  is  it  true  that  its  fundamental  conceptions  ha 
become  foreign  to  us,  and  that  if  the  work  subsists  it  is  in  spil 
of  the  subject  treated  by  it.' 

The  verdict  seems  to  us  to  be  just,  and  to  be  supported  b 
M.  Scherer  with  considerations  natural,  lucid,  and  forcible.  H 
too,  has  his  conventions  when  he  comes  to  speak  of  Racine 


Lamartine.     But  his  judgments  on  foreign  poets,  on  Shakspeaii  j 

Byron,  Goethe,  as  well  as  on  Milton,  seem  to  us  to  be  singularl^_ 
uninfluenced  by  the  conventional  estimates  of  these  poets, 
singularly  rational.     Leaning  to  the  side  of  severity,  as  is  natui 
when  one  has  been  wearied  by  choruses  of  ecstatic  and  exs 
rated  praise,  he  yet  well  and  fairly  reports,  we  think,  the 
impression  made  by  these  great  men  and  their  works  on  a  mode 
mind  disinterested,  intelligent,  and  sincere.     Our  readers, 
hope,  have  been  interested  in  seeing  how  Milton  and  his  ' 
disc  Lost '  stand  such  a  survey.     And  those  who  are  dissatisft 
with  what  we  have  given  them  may  always  revenge  themsel"^^  w 
by  falling  back  upon  their  Addison,  and  by  observing 
tically  that,  ^  A  few  general  rules  extracted  out  of  the  Frei 
authors,  with  a  certain  cant  of  words,  has  sometimes  set  up 
illiterate  heavy  writer  for  a  most  judicious  and  formidable  cn.^- 


(    205     ) 

Abt.  VIl. — Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism :  Lectures  delivered 
at  the  Royal  Institution  of  Great  Britain  in  February  and 
March^  1874.  By  R.  Bosworth  Smith,  M.A.  2nd  Edition, 
levised  and  enlarged.     London,  1876. 

IN  the  present  struggle  in  Eastern  Europe  the  element  of 
religious  antagonism  is  the  most  important  factor  in  the 
problem.     The  question,  originally  one  of  race  and  government, 
Y^SLS  become  to  a  gpreat  extent  one  of  religion.     As  Muslims, 
time  Turks,   of  course,  use  the  Sheriat,  or   law  embracing  or 
l>9Lsed  upon  the  Cor'-an  and  its  commentaries,  and  this  is  de- 
daxed  bj  many  persons  in  Western  Europe  to  be  utterly  inap- 
plicable to  Christian  subjects.    Here,  then,  is  the  real  difficulty ;. 
IS  Mohammedanism  so  plastic  as  to  be  adapted  to  the  reforms 
^^liich  it  is  universally  admitted,  even  by  the  Turks  themselves, 
^v^  required,  or  must  it  be  eliminated  altogether  from  Europe  f 
\£  an  affirmative  answer  be  given  to  the  latter  proposition,  and 
•Uch  a  view  be  even  partially  adopted  by  the  great  Powers,  then 
^li^ere  is  no  solution  of  the  difficulty  but  a  religious  war,  and 
•^O^ch  a  war  as  the  world  has  never  yet  seen.     But  we  venture  to 
^^^lieve  that  this  terrible  alternative  is  not  inevitable,  and  we  shall 
^*ldeavour,  in  the  course  of  this  article,  to  show  the  reason  why 
-^"^  is  not.     Far  be  it  from  us  to  suggest  that  the  crude  system, 
^^d  often,  it  must  be  confessed,  barbarous  traditions  of  Islam, 
^^  comparable  with  the  divinely  inspired  truths  and  the  saving 
Morality  of  Christianity.     But  we  would  earnestly  endeavour  to 
Point   out  that    such    a    new    crusade  as   that    instituted    by 
-Mr.  Gladstone  and  his  friends  must  inevitably  lead  to  the  most 
disastrous   results;    while   the    exercise   of  Christian    charity, 
leading  us  to  look  for  such  good  as  may  be  found  in  Moham- 
xnedanism,  rather  than  to  seek  for  what  evil  it  contains,  will 
tend  to  preserve  that  peace  which  it  is  eminently  the  mission  of 
Christianity  to  promote.      To  Englishmen,  especially,  a  rigid 
adherence  to  this  principle  is  of  paramount  importance.    As  sup- 
porters of  a  loyal  attempt  to  redress  wrongs,  and  to  insist  upon 
the  firm  and  impartial  administration  of  justice,  we  should  have 
the  sympathy  of  all  people,  and  the  gratitude  of  the  Muslims  as 
Well  as  of  the  Christian  subjects  of  the  Porte.     But  as  agitators 
for  a  blind  unreasoning  crusade  against  Islam  itself,  we  should 
only  be  following  the  example  of  the  Emperor  Nicholas,  who 
declared  to  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  ^  that  he  would  willingly 
place  himself  at  the  head  of  a  croisade  to  drive  the  Turks  into 
Asia,'  *  and  we  should  justly  incur  the  enmity  of  all  Moham- 

*  '  DespAiohes  of  the  Duke  of  Woliington '  (Nev  Series),  voL  ill.  p.  187. 

medans 


206  Moliammed  and  Mohammedanism. 

medans  of  every  race.     Now,  our  Indian  Empire  contains  mai^J 
millions  of  Mohammedans,  who,  we  know,  have  already  shovi^  ^ 
an  active  sympathy   with    their  Muslim  brethren  in  Turke; 
and,  if  we  arc  to  believe  the  statement  recently  made  by 
Indian   gentleman   in   the   ^  Times,'   the   sons   of  the   highg^--='^ 
Muslim  families  in  India  are  prepared  to  come  to  the  aid 
the  Sultan,  and  serve  personally  under  his  banner.     But 
sympathy  is  a  purely  religious  one ;  and  the  enthusiasm  he 
indicated  would  never  extend  itself  to   the  Turkish   Gove 
ment  simply  as  a  Government,  or  to  the  Osmanlis  simply 

Turks.     Such  indiscreet  utterances  as  Mr.  Freeman's  oft-quotej J 

^  Perish    the    interests   of   England,  perish    our   dominion   i.^^ 
India,'  although  qualified  by  the  words  ^  rather  than  we  shouLfll 
strike  one  blow,  or  speak  one  word  on  behalf  of  the  wron 
against  the    right,'   arc   sure   to   be   quoted   and   remember 
without  such  qualifying  clause;  and  the  impression  convey 
by  them,   particularly  in    India,   is   most  dangerous.      If  d 
dominion  in  India  is  of  vital  importance  to  our  national  pi 
sperity,  it  is  indisputable  that  our  dominion  would  be  gravel 
threatened  by  anytliing  tending  to  arouse  a  spirit  of  disaffectio 
in   our  Mohammedan   fellow-subjects.     Sir  George  CampbeL 
it   is   true,   in   his   ^  Handy-Book   on   the   Eastern  Questioi 
asserts,  in  so  many  words,  that  '  the  idea  of  any  religious  coi 
nection  between  the  Sultan   of  Turkey   and    Indian  Mob 
medans ;  that  he  is,  or  ever  has  been,  the  religious  head  of  ao^ 
one  of  them,  is  absolutely  and  entirely  untrue.'     The  words 
such  an  authority  are  entitled  to  consideration,  but  we  need  d 
here  discuss  the  position  of  the  Sultan  of  Turkey  in  his  capacit 
of  Khalifeh,  as  we  shall  have  occasion  to  define  the  privile] 
and  responsibilities  of  that  office  further  on.     Still  we  must  I.      J» 
very  careful  to  avoid  carrying  this  feeling  of  security  too  fa-^^B/^ 

and  we  may  take  it  for  granted  that  Indian  Muslims  sympathise «e 

with  Turkish   Muslims,  just  as  readily  as  Russian  Chnstia^^Bu 
sympathise  with  Servian  Christians. 

The  Eastern  Question  presents  two  distinct  phases,  the  po^-^i- 
tical  and  the  religious ;  and  the  former  cannot  be  approached      so 
long  as  the  latter  is  misunderstood.     A  few  years  ago  it  woi^».ld 
have  been  impossible  to  find  a  work  of  sufficiently  frank  ^^Jod 
liberal  views,  combined  with  historical  accuracy,  to  afford    '^^ 
information  necessary  for  investigating  the  subject,  and  arriv^-*8 
at  a  just  conception  of  what  Mohammedanism  really  is ;  but-     ^® 
at  the  present  time  are  more  fortunate,  and,  amongst  all       '^ 
productions  of  recent  scholars,  no  book  is,  perhaps,  more  '^^'^^ 
roughly  suited  to  the  purpose  than  the  one  the  title  of  w*^""  ^^ 
stands  at  the  head  of  the  present  article. 


Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism,  207 

Mr.  Bosworth  Smith's  lectures  at  the  Royal  Institution  were 

directed  against   the  popular  misconceptions   of  Mohammed's 

character  and  mission ;  but  in  the  course  of  his  apology  he  has 

developed  an  entirely  new  view   of  Islam,  and  has  treated  the 

question  in  an  altogether  different  spirit  from  any  of  his  prede* 

oessors.     The  author  is  not  an  Orientalist  in  the  technical  sense 

'   of  the  word,  but  he  has  made  such  careful  use  of  the  ample 

materials  existing  for  the  study  of  his  subject,  that  his  treatment 

of  it  loses  nothing  in  accuracy  from  this  fact,  while  his  views 

are  undoubtedly  broader  than   they  could  have  been   had   he 

been  hampered   with   the   minute  knowledge   of  a  specialist. 

Thej  will  be  best  explained  in  his  own  words.     His  object — 

^  ifi  not  80  much  to  dwell  upon  the  degradation  of  the  female  sex  in 

most  Muslim  countries — for  that  is  admitted  on  all  hands — as  to 

show  what  Mohammed  did,  even  in  his  time,  to  raise  the  position  of 

Women,  and  to  point  out  how  his  consistent  and  more  enlightened 

followers  may  best  follow  him  now ;  not  so  much  to  dwell  upon  the 

horrors  of  the  Slave  Trade — ^for  these,  too,  are  universally  recognised 

— as  to  show  those  Musalmans  who  still  indulge  in  it  that  it  forms 

i^o  part  of  their  creed,  that  it  is  opposed  alike  to  the  practice  and 

pi^oepts  of  their  Prophet ;  and  that,  therefore,  if  they  are  less  to 

hlame,  they  are  only  less  to  blame  thaJi  those  Christians  who,  in  spite 

of  a  higher  civilisation,  and  an  infinitely  higher  example,  indulged  in 

It  till  so  late  a  period.    My  object,'  he  continues,  *  is  not  so  much  to 

^^te  on  the  evils  of  the  appeal  to  the  sword,  still  less  to  excuse  it, 

^  to  point  out  that  there  were  moments,  and  those  late  in  the  life  of 

the  warrior  prophet,  when  even  he  could  say,  "  Unto  every  one  have 

^®  given  a  law  and  a  way ;"  and,  again,  "  Let  there  be  no  violence  in 

^ligion."     My  object  is,  lastly,  not  so  much  to  dwell  on  the  fables, 

^^d  the  discrepancies,  and  the   repetitions,  and    the  anachronisms 

yhich  form  the  husk  of  the  Koran,  as  to  show  how  they  sink  into 

^'^significance  before  the  vis  viva,  which  is  its  soul.  ...  In  a  word, 

^y  object   is — with  all  reverence  be  it   said— not  to  localise  God 

^^clixaively  in  this  or  that  creed,  but  to  trace  Him  everywhere  in 

Pleasure ;  not  merely  to  trust  Him  for  what  shall  be,  but  to  find  Him 

^^  what  is,' — Preface,  p.  xiv.-xvi. 

^One  great  outcome  of  the  modem  scientific  method  of  dealing 

^*th  such  questions  is  that  tolerance  of  which  Mr.  Bosworth 

^'^U.th's  book  is  so  admirable  an  exponent,  and  which  alone 

^^nders  the  discussion  of  the   comparative  merits  of   religious 

^J" stems   possible.      The   immense   political    advantage  of  the 

^^>^Usion  of  this  idea  cannot  be  too  much  insisted  upon.      If 

^^^    are   to  approach  a  people  with  whom    we   have   intimate 

^^l^tions,  either  as  rulers  or  allies,  or  with  whom  we  seek  for 

^^i^  commercial  intercourse,  it  is  clear  that  when  we  unreason- 

^■^*J^  brand  their  religion — that  is  to  say,  their  morality,  law, 

and 


208  Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism, 

and  justice — as  false  and  absurd,  we  set  up  at  the  verj'  outset 
a  barrier  of  mutual  distrust  which  nothing  can  ever  tfaiov 
down. 

Unrevealed  religion  has  the  same  relation  to  morality  that 
grammar  has  to  language.  It  is  the  formulated  expression  of 
the  beliefs  and  experiences  of  society,  and  of  the  laws  that  such 
experiences  have  proved  to  be  necessary.  We  can  no  more 
say  that  the  command  to  abstain  from  crime  and  practise  firtne 
preceded  the  abstention  or  the  practice,  than  we  can  fay  thit 
the  paradigma  of  the  verb  or  noun,  or  the  formulated  rule  of 
syntax,  preceded  the  invention  of  the  word  or  phrase. 

We  must  not  forget  that  whether  or  no  a  man  acts  in  a  certain 
way  because  his  religion  tells  him  to  do  so,  he  almost  invaxiaUj 
refers  his  own  action  to  the  influence  of  such  religion,  and  that 
comes  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end.  To  understand  the  religion 
of  a  people,  then,  is  to  understand  the  principles  of  their  actions^ 
and  without  this  no  mutual  confidence  or  friendship  is  possible. 

That  Mohammedanism  is  a  religion  in  this  sense  of  the  word, 
and  one  that  demands  the  most  respectful  consideration,  the 
author  of  these  Lectures  makes  very  clear : — 

*  Glance  for  one  moment  at  its  marvellous  history.    Think  how  one 
great  truth  working  in  the  brain  of  a  shepherd  of  Mecca  gradnallj 
produced  conviction  in  a  select  band  of  personal  adherents;  how, 
when  the  Prophet  was  exiled  to  Medina,  the  &ith  gathered  Oan 
fresh  strength,  brought  him  back  in  triumph  to  his  native  place,  aal 
secured  to  him  for  his  lifetime  the  submission  of  all  Arabia;  how 
when  the  master  mind  was  withdrawn,  the  whole  structure  he  had 
roared  seemed,  for  the  moment,  to  vanish  away  like  the  baseless  hhnc 
of  a  vision,  or  like  the  mirage  of  the  desert  whence  it  had  taken  its 
rise ;  how  the  faith  of  Abu  Bakr  and  the  sword  of  Omar  reoalled  it 
once  more  to  life,  and  crushed  the  false  prophets  that  always  foUoW 
in  the  wake  of  the  true  one,  as  the  jackals  do  the  trail  of  a  lion ;  how 
it  crumpled  up  the  Roman  empire  on  the  one  side,  and  the  Persia^ 
on  the  other,  driving  Christianity  before  it  on  the  West  and  Nortbi 
and  Fire  Worship  on  the  Eiist  and  South ;  how  it  spread  over  two 
continents,  and  how  it  settled  in  a  third,  and  how  the  tide  of  invasioi^ 
carrying  it  headhmg  onward  tlirough  Spain  into  Franco,  it  at  otx^ 
time  almost  overwhelmed  the  whole,  till  Charles  the  Hammer  tnm^^ 
it  back  upon  itself  in  his  five  days'  victory  at  Tours ;  how  througS^ 
out  these  vast  conquests,  after  a  short  time,  to  intoleranoe  succeecu^ 
toleration,  to  ignorance  knowledge,  to  barbarism  civilisation;  hc^  ** 
the  indivisible  empire,  the  representative  on  earth  of  the  Theoonic:^ 
in  Heaven,  became  many  empires  with  rival  Ehalifs  at  Damascus 
Bagdad,  at  Cairo,  Cairoan,  and  Cordova ;  how  horde  after  hordo 
barbarians  of  the  great  Turkish  or  Tartar  stock  were  precipitated 
the  dominions  of  tliu  faithful,  only  to  bo  conquered  by  the  faith 
those  whose  arms  th-^y  overthrow,  and  were  compelled  henceforwik 


Mohammed  and  Moliammedanism,  209 

Vy  iti  inheKent  ibroe  to  deBtroy  what  they  had  worshipped,  to  worship 

wbit  ihej  had  destroyed ;  how  when  the  news  came  that  the  yeiy 

birthplace  of  the  OhriiBtian  £uth  had  fSeJlen  into  their  hands,  '*a  nerre 

iw  touched,"  as  Oihbon  says,  *'  of  exquisite  feeling,  and  the  sensation 

Tihnted  to  the  haart  of  Eorope;"  how  Ohristendom  itself  then 

beeune  for  two  hundred  years  half  Mohanunedanised,  and  tried  to 

meet  ftnaticism  by  counter-fanaticism — the  sword,  the  Bible,  and  the 

CroiB,  against  the  scymitar,   the  Koran,  and  the  Crescent ;  how, 

Ittttj,  wnen  the  tide  of  aggression  had  been  checked,  it  once  more 

bont  its  barriers^  and  seating  itself  on  the  throne  of  the  CsBsars  of 

tbe  Eist,  threatened  more  than  once  the  very  centre  of  Christendom.' 

-Pp.  26-27. 

That  Mohammedanism  has  been  consistently  misunderstood, 
^  that  some  such  work  as  the  present  has  long  been  needed,  is 
c^QaUj  dear. 

Nothing  can  be  more  instructive  and  more  curious  than  the 

dutch  which  Mr.  Smith  gives  of  the  various  opinions  respecting 

Mohammed,  and  the  religion  of  which  he  is  the  founder,  which 

luTe  been  held  by  the  Christian  world   from  medieval  times 

^own  to  our  own  day.     In  the  earlier  romances  the  fanatical 

^ccmodast  of  Arabia  is  himself  turned  into  an  idol ;  the  Caliph 

^  Cordova  is  made  to  swear  *  by  Jupiter,  by  Mohammed,  and 

■'J  ApoUyon  ;'  human  sacrifices  are  supposed  to  be  offered  to  him  ; 

•nd  the  very  name  of  Mahommedanism,  '  Mahomerie ' — or  in  its 

-^-n^iih  form,  *  mummery ' — has  come  down  to  us  as  a  synon3rm 

for  foolish  Pagan  and  superstitious  rites.     It  is  odd  to  note  how 

Words  of  originally  simple  and  harmless  meaning  are,  in  the 

^QTie  of  time,  invested  with  new  and  offensive  significations. 

*  Ptgin'  and  *  Heathen,'  like  the  Arabic  Kafir j*  originally  meant 

^^  more  than  the  simple  villager,  the  dweller  on  the  heath,  to 

whom  the  elaborate  ritual  of  the  town  was  unknown.     ^  Infidel,' 

Qieaiunff  one  who  would  not  take  a  thing  on  trust,  was  soon  made 

fo  signify  one  who  could  not   be  trusted.      *  Unbeliever' — an 

^^^ocent  term  enough  in  its  obvious  sense — has,  with  its  synonym 

'^uscreant,'  come  to  be  considered  one  of  the  worst  forms  of 

Reproach ;  while,  to  come  back  to  our  immediate  subject,  Ma- 

^^d  (Mahommed)  is  one  of  the  master  fiends  in  every  school- 

^ys  demonology.     Shakespeare  in  unqualified  terms  identifies 

Wm  with  the  devil  himself:— 

*  The  Prince  of  Darkness  is  a  gentleman, 
Mode  he*s  called  and  Mahu '  (i.e.  Mahonn.) 

The  Crusades,  although  they  brought  the  West  into  such 
cioie  connection  with  the  East,  do  not  appear  to  have  added 


Oonnected  with  Xe/r,  a  village,  as  wdyaros  with  the  Greek  vayos, 

VoL  143.— ZVb.  285.  p 


mucli 


210  Mohammed  ojid  Moluunmedanism. 


much  to  the  real  knowledge  of  the  Saracens  or  of  their  leligioiii 
or  to  have  corrected  the  prevalent  misconceptions  of  the  chaandar 
of  its  founder.     The  rude,  unlettered  soldiers  of  the  CSron,  it 
is  to  be  feared,  benefited  but  little  by  their  intercourse  widi 
their  refined  and  chivalrous  foemen,  of  whom  Saladin  is  so  fair 
a  type ;  and  the  contemporary  crusading  accounts  exhibit  the 
gpx>ssest  ignorance,  combined  with  the  most  oflfensive  vitupext- 
tion.     The  history  of  the  Crusades,  indeed,  contains  a  leoon 
that  is  most  pertinent  to  our  subject.     Then,  in  spite  of  the 
popular  opinion  to  the  contrary,  history  proves  to  us  that  most 
of  the  chivalry,  refinement,  and  intelleetual  enlightenment  was 
on  the  side  of  the  Saracens;  and  that  the  Crusaders,  except  their 
blind  faith  in  Christianity,  which  in  most  cases  meant  nther 
a  blind  faith  in  some  monkish  talisman  carried  about  the  penon 
and  worshipped  as  a  fetish,  had  very  few  good  qualities  indeed.* 
But  just  as  it  is  obvious  that  this  difference  is  in  nowise  to  be 
attributed   to    the    difference    between    Mohammedanism  and 
Christianity,  so  it  is  clear  that  the  comparative  morality  of 
Turkey  and  Europe  is  not  entirely  to   be  explained  by  the 
difference   of  creed.      The   fact   is,   that  at   the   time  of  the 
Crusades,  the  ruling  Mohammedans  were  chiefly  of  Arab  oT 
Persian  origin,  and  possessed  a  high  civilisation,  and  a  giea^ 
regard  for  literature  and  science;  while  the  Christians  of  &e 
middle  ages  were  too  deeply  immersed  in  ignorance  and  fiqper* 
stition  for  them  to  exhibit  the  virtues  which  the  true  obferviice 
of  the  Christian  faith  alone  can  give,  but  which  a  mere  pro* 
fession   of  the   creed  can   never  bestow.     Now  the  sides  ire 
changed,  and  in  Turkey  and  Syria   the  ruling  race  ooine  of 
a  barbarous   Mongol  horde ;   and,  as  the  recent   atrocities  i^ 
Bulgaria  and  Servia  have  shown,  the  least  scratch  upon  the 
Osmanli  skin  shows  the  incorrigible  Tartar  savage  benesth  ; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  no  one  can  deny  that  Europe  ha* 
advanced  immensely  in    all    the  arts  that  ennoble  humaBity- 
Thus  we  have  at  two  different  epochs  of  history,  civilisation  «tt<* 
enlightenment  on  the  one  hand,  and  barbarism  and  ignoianc^ 
on  the  other,  alternately  accompanying  Mohammedanism  tf>^ 
Christianity.     If  it  was  the  religion  that  made  the  mnn^^^ 
not  the  man  that  gave  the  colour  to  the  religion,  the  Mohftfl*" 
mcdans  could  never  have  been  capable  of  exhibiting  this  ph**^ 
of  enlightenment ;  and  we  are  driven  again  to  the  conclitfi^^ 
upon  which  Mr.  Smith  insists,  that  Islam,  in    common  wit»* 
many  other   systems  outside  of  Christianity,  has  in  it  ^^J 
elements  of  good  ;  and  that  it  depends  upon  the  soil  in  wb^c** 

*  Sco  the  chupter  on  Saludin  in  Besaut  and  Paliuer*js  'Jerusalem.'    IS^l;* 
^  they 


Mohammed  and  JHokafmnedamsaL  211 

diey  axe  planted  whether  thej  bear  fruit  or  not.  Nor  have  the 
aedieYal  misconceptions  of  Islam  been  corrected^  eren  bj  the 
adTanoed  knowledge  of  more  recent  times,  so  far,  at  least,  as 
die  masses  of  the  population  are  concerned.  Witness  the  fol- 
lowing hjjnn,  written  by  Charles  Weslej,  and  still  sug, 
aecordUng  to  Mr.  Smith,  bj  NonconfDrmists  at  their  religious 
lemces:  * — 

<  The  smoke  of  the  infernal  cave 
Which  half  the  Oiristian  world  o'erspread, 
Disperse,  Thou  heaTenlj  Light,  and  save 
The  souls  by  that  impostor  led — 
That  Arab  thief,  as  Satan  bold. 
Who  quite  destroyed  Thy  Asian  fold. 

'  Oh  may  Thy  blood,  once  sprinkled,  c^ 
For  those  who  spurn  Thy  sprinkled  Uood  I 
Assert  Thy  glorious  Deity, 
Stretch  out  Thine  arm,  Thou  triune  God  I 
The  Unitarian  fiend  eipel, 
And  chase  his  doctrines  l^ck  to  hell.' 

Id  fact,  as  Mr.  Smith  remarks,  ^  no  single  writer,  with  the 
<'De  itiange  exception  of  the  Jew  Maimonides,  till  towards  the 
iniddle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  treats  of  him  (Mohammed) 
tt  o&erwise  than  a  rank  impostor  and  false  prophet.' 

But  let  us  turn  from  these  misconceptions  of  Mohammed's 
diaiacter  and  mission,  and  inquire  for  ourselves  what  they 
ftally  were.  To  do  this  we  must  glance  briefly  at  the  place 
>Qd  circumstances  of  the  birth  of  his  religion. 

Of  what  Mohammed's  surroundings  were  we  can  form  a  eood 
idea,  not  only  from  the  exact  accounts  which  historians  have 
left  us,  but  from  our  knowledge  of  Arab  character  and  Arab 
ufe,  which  have  scarcely  changed  from  the  Patriarchal  times 
down  to  the  present  day.  Living  in  the  pure  and  invigorating 
^  of  the  desert,  far  from  the  turmoil  of  men  and  cities ;  un- 

Snainted  with  luxury,  and  possessing  in  his  camels,  sheep, 
tents,  all  that  he  absolutely  required  for  his  subsistence, 
^  Arab  was,  and  still  is,  a  free,  simple,  vigorous  child  of 
i^&ture.  Like  all  peoples  who  live  in  constant  communion  with 
^ture,  poetry  was  a  passion  as  well  as  an  innate  talent  with 
J^,  and  by  furnishing  him  with  an  easy  vehicle  for  the  record- 
^  of  thoughts  and  events,  by  giving  him  in  fact  a  literature, 
although  an  unwritten  one,  redeemed  him  from  many  of  the 

^yJP^,  Weslevan  anthoriiies  have  lately  informed  the  public  that  thia  and 
J^  objecikmaDle  hymns  have  been  expunged  from  their  hymnology ;  bnt  the 
^  teoiautt  undiBputed  that  it  has  for  years  been  included  in  it 

P  2  tevAXs 


212  Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism. 

faults  of  unlettered  savagery.     ^The  Arabs'  registers  are 

verses  of  their  bards/  says  their  own  proverb,  and  the  numi 

of  these  which  have  been  preserved  afford  invaluable  mal 

for  the  study  of  their  history  and  character.     Their  poetry  was 

natural  outcome  of  their  mode  of  existence,  and  the  very 

and  rhythms  which  they  employ  breathe  the  desert  air.     Just 

the  Scandinavian  poet,  in  his  daily  life  amidst  brawling  torrent. 

and  dashing  cascades,  threw  his  thoughts  insensibly  into  lacKr^^ 

guage  that  flowed  in  harmony  with  these  voices  of  nature  aronnrtjK:  ja 

him,  so  the  Arab,  in  the  stillness  of  the  desert,  thought  aloud  »         ^ 

he  journeyed  on,  and  insensibly  threw  his  thoughts  into 

whose  rhythm  was  guided  by  the  pace  of  his  camel  or  himse? 

It  may  not  be  out  of  place  to  give  here  a  slight  sketch  of  w1 

this  poetry  was,  as  the  literary  and  poetical  taste  of  the  Ara~ 

fJayed  no  unimportant  element  in  the  jacceptance  and  spread 
slam. 

The  Song   of  Solomon   is   most  nearly  akin   to  an   ArabzsHbic 
Casldahf  or  ^  Ode.'     The  similarity  is  especially  remarkable  in 

the  long  digressions,  and  realistic  details  into  which  a  chanw — noe 
metaphor  will  lead  the  poet.     In  chap.  iv.  ver.  4,  of  the  former,  t.     for 
instance,  occur  the  words  :  ^  Thy  neck  is  like  the  tower  of  Da^^^vid 
builded  for  an  armoury,  whereon  there  hang  a  thousand  bn(      — ^t- 
lers,  all  shields  of  mighty  men.'     Here  the  sacred  poet  like      -^ps 
the  neck  of  his  beloved  to  a  tower  for  straightness  and  sy        m- 
metry,  and  the  mention  of  a  tower,  recalling  to  his  mind  I^Bhe 
tower  of  David,   leads   him  to  a  description  of  that  buildiirrr^g, 
the  details  of  which  arc  a  mere  digression,  and  quite  foreign        to 
the  metaphor.     With  this  let  us  compare  a  passage  firom  ts"^c 
*  Mo'allakah  of  Antarah,'  one  of  those  seven  prize  poems  whS^  <^ 
have  come  down  to  us  as  specimens  of  the  compositions  whE-  ^ 
won  the  prize  at  the  national  gatherings  at  Ocadh,  and  t^^c 
distinction  of  being  inscribed  in  letters  of  gold,  and  hung  u] 
the  door  of  the  Kaabch  at  Mecca. 

Likening  his  mistress's  breath  to  a  fragrant  meadow,  the 
bard  proceeds : 

'  Or  like  an  untouched  meadow,  where  the  rain 
Hath  fallen  freshly  on  the  fragrant  herbs 
That  carpet  all  its  pure  untrodden  soil ; 
A  meadow  where  the  frequent  rain-drops  &11 
Liko  coins  of  silver  in  the  quiet  pools, 
And  irrigate  it  with  perpetual  streams ; 
A  meadow  where  the  sportive  insects  hum 
Like  listless  topers  singing  o'er  their  cups, 
And  ply  their  forelegs,  liko  a  man  who  tries, 
With  maimed  hands,  to  strike  the  flint  and  steeL' 


Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism.  213 

Here  the  detailed  description  of  the  meadow  and  of  the  flies 
8  in  like  manner  a  digression,  and  in  no  wise  necessary  to  the 
laboration  of  the  metaphor.  But  the  similes,  comparisons, 
phrases,  and  figures,  employed  by  the  Hebrew  poets,  are  pre- 
isely  such  as  are  met  with  in  the  poems  of  the  Arabs,  and 
imish  additional  proof  that  the  Semitic  character,  thought,  and 
lode  of  life  has  undergone  little  if  any  change  with  the  lapse  of 
snturies. 

So  passionately  fond  of  liberty  is  the  Arab  that  he  will  not 
rook  the  trammels  of  government  or  even  of  society.  The 
idividual  Bedawi  bows  to  no  authority  but  his  own  will ;  and  if 

tribe  acknowledge  a  Sheikh  or  elder  as  a  head,  it  promises  no 
[legiance  to  him  as  ruler  or  lord,  but  only  cedes  to  him  the 
ght  of  representing  it  in  its  dealings  with  strangers,  and  gives 
im  the  somewhat  equivocal  privilege  of  occupying  the  most 
cposed  part  of  the  camp,  and  of  entertaining  all  comers  at  his 
wn  expense.  A  certain  strong  feeling  of  clanship  among  the 
lembers  of  individual  tribes — an  irrepressible  love  of  plunder 
id  freebooting,  leading  to  constant  petty  wars  and  prolonged 
mdettas — and  a  superstitious  belief  in  a  debased  form  of 
ibaeanism — were  the  chief  characteristics  of  the  people  in  the 
idst  of  whom  Mohammed  was  bom. 

The  requirements  of  commerce  necessitated  some  general 
itherings  of  the  tribes,  and  the  territory  of  Mecca,  where  was 
tuated  the  most  honoured  shrine  of  Sabaean  worship,  was 
iturally  the  locality  in  which  they  would  occur.  Accordingly, 
I  annual  fair  was  held  at  Ocadh,  where  literary  contests  also 
ok  place;  and  these,  like  the  Olympic  games  amongst  the 
reeks,  served  to  keep  alive  a  certain  feeling  of  national  unity 
Dong  the  different  tribes.     Two  results  followed  from  this  state 

things,  which  have  an  important  bearing  on  the  success  of 
ohammed's  mission.  In  the  first  place,  the  tribe  of  the 
ureish,  from  which  he  sprang,  were  located  on  the  site  of 
e  Ka'abeh,  the  chief  temple  of  national  worship  just  referred 
»  and  they  therefore  became  the  natural  guardians  of  the  sacred 
ifice,  and  so  acquired  a  kind  of  prescriptive  superiority  over 
her  tribes.  Secondly,  as  all  the  tribes  met  in  the  territory  of 
e  Kureish  to  try  their  respective  skill  in  poetry  and  oratory, 
e  language  of  this  particular  tribe  became '  necessarily  the 
indard  dialect,  and  absorbed  into  itself  many  of  the  idioms 
d  locutions  of  the  rest.  Thus  we  see  that  local,  tribal,  and 
cial  circumstances  were  all  in  favour  of  the  development  of 
y  great  idea  originating  with  the  Kureish. 
The  picture  we  have  just  drawn  of  the  Arab  is  a  bright  and 
irourable  one ;  but  there  is,  unfortunately,  a  dark  side  to  it. 

Morally 


214  Mohammed  and  Mohammedanitm. 

Morally  and  intellectuallj,  they  were  in  a  state  of  revolting  bar- 
barism ;  the  primitive  simplicity  of  Sabseanism — the  worriiip  of 
the  Hosts  of  Heaven — had  degenerated  into  a  gloomy  and 
idolatrous  polytheism  ;  drunkenness,  gambling,  divination  by 
arrows,  polygamy,  murder,  and  worse  vices  were  terribly  rife 
am»>ngst  them. 

Even  at  the  present  day  female  children  are  considered  rather 
a  disgrace  than  a  blessing  by  the  Bedawi  Arabs,  and  a  father 
never  counts  them  in  enumerating  his  offspring.  Before  Moham- 
med's time  the  same  dislike  existed  in  a  more  repulsive  fonn 
still,  and  the  practice  of  burying  daughters  alive,  tocUd  al  bendtt 
as  it  was  called,  was  very  prevsdent.  ^  The  best  son-in-law  it 
the  grave,'  said  one  of  their  own  proverbs,  and  the  &tber  was  in 
most  cases  the  murderer.  It  is  narrated  of  a  certain  Othman, 
that  he  never  shed  tears  except  on  one  occasion,  when  his  little 
daughter,  whom  he  was  burying  alive,  wiped  the  grave-dust  fimm 
his  beard.  Against  this  inhuman  practice  Mohammed  directed 
all  the  thunders  of  his  eloquent  indignation,  and  set  before  theis 
eyes  the  terrors  of  the  last  day,  ^  when  the  female  child  that  had 
been  buried  alive  shall  be  asked  for  what  crime  she  was  pot  ti 
death. 

The  Ka'abeh,  their  chief  sanctuary,  contained  no  fewer  th&: 
three  hundred  and  fifty  idols ;  amongst  them  the  famous  blad 
stone,  said  to  have  fallen  from  heaven,  and  to  have  been  origic 
ally  white,  though  now  blackened  by  the  kisses  of  devout  bE 
sinful  mortals. 

Simon  Assemani,  a  learned  Italian  Orientalist  of  the  Ins 
century,  suggests,  and  with  much  show  of  reason,  that  the  chi« 
deity  worshipped  by  the  ancient  Arabs  was  identical  with  tb 
Dionysus  or  Bacchus  of  the  Greeks.  Herodotus  tells  us  tbm 
*  the  Arabs  worship  Bacchus  and  Urania '  (lib.  iii.,  cap.  8),  an 
Assemani  supposes  the  former  to  be  identical  with  Seba,  son  m 
Cush  (Gen.  x.  27).  Seba  is  the  name  under  which  the  Arab 
are  constantly  spoken  of  in  the  Hebrew  of  the  Old  Testament 
and  the  name  Bacchus  is  not  very  far  removed  from  the  AramaS 
BoT'KhuSj  the  son  of  Cush.  The  idea  is,  moreover,  strengthenes 
by  the  epithet  Sabi^  Sabos,  or  Sabazius,  given  to  Bacchus  bs 
the  Greeks,  and  by  the  cry  of  evol  ^djSoiy  with  which  he  wff 
hailed.  At  any  rate,  the  connection  between  the  Semitic  ana 
classical  mythologies  is  much  greater  than  has  been  general! 
supposed  ;  and  the  numerous  bilingual  inscriptions  in  Greek  um 
Phoenician,  which  have  been  lately  deciphered,  prove  that  dr 
identity  of  individual  deities  was  recogpiised  by  these 
peoples.  Moreover,  such  legends  as  those  of  Tammuz 
Adonis,  of  Bel  and  the   Dragon,  Perseus  (Phoenician  Be^C-- 


Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism.  215 

and  Andromeda^  and  our  own  St.  George  and  the  Dragon,  ofier 
Toy  striking  parallels.  In  spite^  however,  of  their  gross 
idohtiy,  the  oiiginal  pnrelj  mcmotheistic  principle  which  un- 
derlies Sabsanism  kept  continually  cropping  up  amongst  the 
Arabs  of  the'  Ignorance,  and  prepared  the  way  for  the  Unitarian 
dogma  of  Islam^  There  were,  as  well  as  the  SabsBan  or  idola- 
troQs  Arabs,  a  number  of  Jewish  tribes  and  colonies  in  Arabia, 
and  Cbristianity  was  also  professed  by  many  of  the  tribes. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  a  people  such  as  we  have  described 
that  Mohammed  appeared.  Briefly  stated,  his  personal  history 
is  as  follows. 

He  was  bom  on  the  20th  of  April,  A.D.  575,  and  belonged  to 

die  hevse  of  Hashim,   one   of    the   leading  families   of   the 

Kneish,  the  chief  of  the  Meccan  tribes.     His  father  'Abdallah 

haring  died  before  his  birth,  and  hiB  mother  Aminah  dying 

while  he  was  yet  young,  he  was  brought  up  by  his  grandfather 

'Abd-al-Mtittalib,  who,  ott  his  deathbed,  entrusted  the  orphan  to 

the  care  of  his  uncle  Abu  T&Kb.     His  early  years,  like  Moses 

And  David  before  him,  he  spent  in  tending  flocks  and  herds  in 

di«  wilderness ;  and  this  solitary  mode  of  life,  combined  with 

^  nervous,  excitable  temperament,  no  doubt  greatly  influenced 

*^  character,  and  developed  those  visionary  aspirations  which 

"^cre  so  remarkably  realised  in  his  subsequent  career. 

His  own  property  being  small,  even  for  an  Arab  lad,  he 
bought  and  obtained  employment  as  managing  man  to  a  rich 
^^idow,  named  Khad(jah,  whom  he  subsequently  married. 
Kliadl^ah  was  fifteen  years  older  than  himself;  but  during 
'^^  twenty-four  years  of  their  married  life,  Mohammed,  con- 
^i^  to  die  usual  practice  of  his  people,  took  no  other  wife, 
^^ether  this  moderation  proceeded  from  affection  for  his  spouse 
^nd  bene&ctress,  or  from  the  fact  that  Khadfjah  kept  the  con- 
"^1  of  her  property,  and  would  not  allow  him  to  spend  it  in 
^^Qtracting  other  alliances,  we  can  scarcely  decide,  and  would 
^in,  with  Mr.  Bosworth  Smith,  give  Mohammed  the  benefit  of 
^e  doubt.  It  is  certain,  however,  that  after  the  death  of 
Khad^ah  his  amours  were  so  frequent  and  unrestricted  as  to 
^Qse  scaoidal  even  ameng  his  followers,  and  to  lead  him  to 
^^"^^Qimit  his  gravest  mistake,  that  of  adducing  fresh  revelations 
^  Sanction  them. 

Up  to  the  age  of  forty  Mohammed's  career  was  an  uneventful 
^■^ ;  but  then  occurred  the  crisis  of  his  life.  He  had  always 
^^en  subjected  to  fits  of  an  epileptic  nature,  and  in  one  of  these 
^  believed  that  he  had  a  direct  call  from  Heaven,  through  the 
^^gel  Gabriel  in  person,  to  become  a  prophet  of  the  Lord,  and 
^  preach  His  unity  and  the  sinfulness  of  idolatry^     The  story 

has 


216  Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism. 

has  been  so  ofton  told  that  we  need  not  repeat  it  here  ;  suffice 
to  say  that  he  was,  in  all  probability,  at  first  convinced  of  tt 
reality  of  his  vision,  and  that  it  was  a  genuine  enthusisfl 
which  led  him,  as  he  shortly  after  did,  to  denounce  *  those  wl 
gave  companions  to  God,'  and  to  declare  that  ^  there  wai  i 
God  but  the  God,  and  that  Mohammed  was  the  Prophet  of  Gkx 
The  monotheistic  idea  was  not  new  to  the  Meccans,  but  it  wt 
distasteful,  and  particularly  so  to  the  Kureish,  whose  position  i 
one  of  the  first  among  Arab  tribes,  and  whose  worldly  prosperi 
arose  from  the  fact  that  they  were  the  hereditary  guardians 
the  national  collection  of  idols  kept  in  the  Sanctuary  at  Meoc 
Mohammed's  message,  therefore,  sounded  like  a  revolutions] 
watchword,  a  radical  party-cry,  which  the  conservative  Meocai 
could  not  afibrd  to  despise,  and  which  they  combated  re 
energetically.  The  Prophet,  therefore,  in  the  first  place,  m 
with  but  little  success.  Khadijah  acc*epted  her  husband's  nu 
sion  without  hesitation,  so  did  her  cousin  Waraka  ;  and  Zei 
^  the  Inquirer,'  a  man  who  had  spent  his  life  in  seeking  for  tl 
truth,  and  in  fighting  against  this  same  idolatry  that  was 
repugnant  to  Mohammed's  ideas,  at  first  gave  in  his  adheren 
to  the  new  doctrine.  For  three  years,  however,  only  foorte 
converts  were  added  to  the  Muslim  Church. 

In  spite  of  mockery,  and  even  persecution,  Mohammed  ^ 
persisted  in  his  preaching,  until 

'  the  Eureisb,  the  guardians  of  the  Eaabeh,  perceived,  like  the  sih 
smiths  at  Ephesns,  that,  if  this  went  on,  their  position  would 
endangered,  and  their  gains  gone.  Finding  that  bribes  and  ihn 
and  entreaties  were  alike  powerless  to  deter  him,  they  expostolf 
with  Abu  Taleb,  his  guardian.  Abu  Taleb  in  his  return  expoi 
latod  kindly  with  his  nephew.  *'  Should  they  array  against  me 
snu  on  my  right  hand  and  the  moon  on  my  left,"  said  Mohamn 
'*  yet,  while  God  should  command  me,  I  would  not  renounce 
purpose." ' — p.  119. 

Yet  for  ten  years  more  he  preached  unsuccessfully  ;  at  len^ 
unable  to  contend  against  the  persecutions  of  his  fellow-tow 
men,  he  was  compelled  to  advise  his  fifteen  followers  to  si 
refuge  in  Abyssinia.  This  they  did,  and  the  Kureish  sent 
the  Najashi,  or  king  of  the  country,  demanding  the  surren 
of  the  exiles  ;  but,  on  being  summoned  before  the  monarch  i 
his  Christian  counsellors,  Ja'afer,  one  of  the  number,  made 
noble  a  defence  and  exposition  of  their  faith  that  the  demi 
was  refused. 

To  add  to  Mohammed's  troubles,  Khadfjah,  his  faithful  w 
and  Abu  Talib,  his  protector,  both  died.  Friendless,  pei 
cuted,  and  threatened  with  assassination,  he  was  compelled 


Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism.  217 

fly  to  Yathrib  (afterwards  called  el  Medina^  or  the  city  par 
excellence^  where  he  had  previously  received  offers  of  asylum. 
Ponaed  by  the  vengeful  Kureish,  he  and  Abu  Bekr,  the  com- 
panion of  his  flight,  hid  for  three  days  in  a  cave,  and  were 
onlj  saved  from  discovery  and  death  by  a  circumstance  which 
Muslims  regard  as  providential,  if  not  miraculous.  The 
pursuers  approached  the  cavern — 

'"We  are  only  two/'  said  his  trembling  companion.  '*  There  is  a 
third,"  said  Mohammed ;  "  it  is  Grod  Himself."  The  Eoreish  reached 
the  cave :  a  spider,  we  are  told,  had  woven  its  web  across  the  mouth, 
•nd  a  pigeon  was  sitting  on  its  nest  in  seemingly  undisturbed  repose. 
The  Eureish  retreated,  for  it  was  evident  that  the  solitude  was  im- 
molated ;  and  by  a  sound  instinct,  one  of  the  sublimest  stories  in  all 
history  has  been  made  the  era  of  Mohammedan  chronology.' — ^p.  123. 

We  have  quoted  Mr.  Bosworth  Smith's  account  of  this  incident 
verbaHmy  because  it  would  be  scarcely  possible  to  describe  it  in 
terser  or  better  language.  But  we  must  confess  that  we  do  not 
quite  endorse  the  opinion  that  it  is  one  of  the  sublimest  stories 
in  all  history.  Indeed,  we  rather  think  that  we  have  met  that 
pigeon  before,  and  certainly  since,  in  the  well-known  story  of 
King  Charles  in  the  oak. 
Arrived  at  Medina,  a  great  change  comes  over  the  Prophet : — 

'The  revelations  of  the  Koran  are  more  and  more  suited  to  the 
P^cular  circumstances  and  caprices  of  the  moment.  They  are 
^^  of  the  nature  of  political  bulletins,  or  of  personal  apologies, 
^f^her  than  of  messages  direct  from  God.  Now  appears  for  the  first 
■line  the  convenient  but  dangerous  doctrine  of  abrogation,  by  which  a 
^heeqnent  revelation  might  supersede  a  previous  one.' — p.  134. 

It  was  at  Medina,  also,  that  he  promulgated  the  most  dangerous 
^^HJtrine  of  all,  that  of  the  right  to  enforce  his  religion  by  the 
•^ord.  Here,  too,  he  began  to  give  rise  to  those  scandals  which 
*ve  ever  since  been  the  most  powerful  weapons  in  the  hands  of 
^  opponents.  In  contracting,  as  he  did,  numerous  and  not 
'^ays  convenient  marriages,  and  especially  in  adducing  ^  revela- 
^^% '  relaxing  his  own  restrictions  upon  polygamy  exceptionally 

his  own  behalf,  Mohammed's  conduct  after  this  period  was 
^^^  than  equivocal,  and  taxes  even  all  Mr.  Bosworth  Smith's 
S^nuity  to  defend  him.  The  question  is  really  important 
^y  so  far  as  it  affects  the  character  of  the  religion ;  for  no 
^  would  venture  upon  such  a  task  as  proving  the  personal 
^Jfacter  of  the  Prophet,  however  noble  it  might  have  been,  to 

Unmaculate. 

The  chief  blots  in  his  fune  are  not  after  his  undisputed  victory, 
t  during  hiB  years  of  chequered  warfare  at  Medina,  and,  such  as 

they 


218  Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism, 

they  are,  are  distribated  yery  evenly  over  the  whole  of  that  tiine.  In 
other  words,  he  did  very  occasionally  give  way  to  a  strong  testa- 
tion ;  bat  there  was  no  gradual  sapping  of  moral  pzinoq^lea,  and  no 
dead(ming  of  conscience— a  very  important  distinction.  One  or  two 
acts  of  summary  and  uncompromising  punishment,  poflsibliy-— one.or 
two  acts  of  cunning,  and,  after  Ehad^'a  was  dead,  the  vioIatioQ'  of 
one  law  which  he  had  from  veneration  for  her  imposed  on  othevs,  and 
had  always  hitherto  kept  himself,  form  no  very  long  bill  of  indusfe- 
ment  against  one  who  always  admitted  he  was  a  man  of  like  paaaiom 
with  ourselves,  who  was  ignorant  of  the  Christian  moral  law,  and  who 
attained  to  power  after  difficulties  and  dangers  and  misooooeptiionii 
which  might  have  turned  the  best  of  men  into  a  suspicions  and  na- 
guinary  tyrant.' — ^pp.  142, 143. 

The  next  question  that  arises  is,  how  could  a  compaiativrij 
obscure  citizen  of  an  Arabian  town  succeed  in  an  entexpriqe  of 
such  magnitude,  and  bring  about  such  astonishing  results? 

The  secret  of  Mohammed's  success  was,  primarily,  enthusiaiBi 
combined  with  patriotism.  Whether  he  believed  to  the  fuU  in 
his  divine  mission  and  revelations  or  not  matters  but  little ;  bvt 
it  is  certain  that  he  did  believe  in  himself  as  working  for  the 
good  of  his  fellow-countrymen.  He  took  the  political  and 
religious  institutions  of  his  country  as  he  found  them,  and  he 
strove  to  eradicate  what  was  bad  and  to  develop  what  was  good. 
He  knew  that  so  long  as  the  various  tribes  wasted  their  strength 
in  internecine  war  there  was  no  hope  of  their  ever  becoming  t 
power;  but  he  knew  their  character  and  temperament  wdl 
enough  to  perceive  that  any  scheme  for  bringing  about  national 
unity  must  fail  if  it  involved  the  necessity  of  their  submitting  to 
any  master  whatever.  He  therefore  sought  to  bind  them  together 
by  what  we  may  call  their  common  religious  feeling,  but  whidi 
really  meant,  as  it  too  often  docs,  common  interests,  conunon 
customs,  and  common  superstitions.  At  Mecca  all  was  ready  to 
his  hand :  the  Ka'abeh  contained  all  the  gods  of  the  diffieicBt 
tribes,  the  annual  fairs  and  eisteddfodau  (to  borrow  a  WeUi 
name  that  exactly  expresses  the  character  of  these  gatheringt)f 
were  held  in  the  territory,  and  it  was  here  that  the  historical  nv 
religious  traditions  of  the  race  were  circulated  and  kept  aliv** 
All  the  elements  of  centralisation  were  there,  and  it  only  wanlw 
such  a  master-spirit  as  Mohammed's  to  turn  their  thoughts  towtfv 
the  common  idea  which  should  induce  them  to  unite. 

A  prophet  who  starts  in  his  career  with  no  better  stock*in»tia0B 
than  visionary  enthusiasm  or  deliberate  imposture  baa  bat  *I^ 
chance.  Museilima,  Mohammed's  rival,  has  left  nothing  lmi>d 
bim  but  his  sobriquet  of  El  Kezzab,  ^  the  Liar,'  and  a  few  faittcrlT 
satirical  parodies  on  some  verses  of  the  Cor^an^  which  are  ftiM 

occasiooalv 


Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism.  219 

Doallj  quoted  by  the  less  reverential  of  Muslims.  El 
ma*,  the  *  Veiled  Prophet '  of  KhorassaUj  earned  no  more 
lality  than  an  occasional  mention  in  Persian  poetry,  and 
mour  of  being  the  hero-  of  an  English  popular  poem. 
tebbi,  *  the  would-be  prophet,'  as  his  name  signifies,  who 
had  in  the  tenth  century  of  our  era,  was  an  Arab  of  the 
»  aad  <me  of  the  greatest  poets  of  his  age.  He,  too,  set  up 
ropfaet,  but  with  so  little  success  that  he  had  to  retire  from 
sinets  at  an  early  period  of  his  career.  It  was  probably 
^nderfol  facility  in  language  that  induced  him  to  imitate 
nmed's  example,  and  rely  upon  the  ^  miraculous '  eloquence 
language  in  support  of  his  pretensions  to  inspiration.  He, 
er^  missed  the  opportunities  which  Mohammed  had;  he 
}  great  reformer  himself,  and  there  was  no  urgent  need  of 
rm  at  the  time.  Moreover,  he  was  entirely  destitute  of 
lot  feeling,  and  even  in  his  early  poems  so  blasphemes  and 
at  holy  names  that  his  most  devoted  commentators  are 
ntly  at  a  lots  to  find  excuses  for  him. 
need  not  instance  the  host  of  more  modem  pretenders, 
n  Persia,  enjoyed  a  partial  success— earned  the  truly  pro- 
reward  of  martyrdom.  He  even  numbers  some  followers 
present  day ;  but  his  success  is  owing  more  to  the  fact  that 
id  to  fan  into  a  flame  the  latent  spark  of  national  feeling  in 
n  breasts  than  to  the  fact  of  his  having  written  an  entirely 
nd  original  Cor'^n.  Amongst  ourselves  Mormonism  is 
n  the  most  striking  instance  of  a  religion,  founded  on 
rate  imposture,  holding  its  ground  for  any  length  of  time. 
nen  here  we  can  trace  its  success  to  the  communistic  ideas 
oinal  longings  which  unfortunately  too  often  influence  the 
cated  mind. 

orming  our  estimate,  therefore,  of  Mohammed's  diaracter 
'  the  religion  which  we  are  accustomed  to  call  by  his  name, 
st  discard  the  theories  of  imposture  and  enthusiasm  equally 
hat  of  divine  inspiration.  Even  the  theory  of  his  being  a 
politiGal  reformer  does  not  contain  the  whole  truth ;  and 
gh  it  is  certain  that  his  personal  character  exercised  a  most 
tut  influence  on  his  doctrine,  yet  it  is  not  by  any  means 
It  that  it  even  moulded  it  into  its  present  shape, 
the  outset  of  his  career  he  turned  to  the  Jews,  imagining 
( he  claimed  to  restore  the  original  religion  of  Abraham,  and 
led  to  the  Jewish  Scriptures  for  confirmation  of  his  teach- 
wj  would  support  him.  Disappointed  in  this  qiiartcr,  he 
1  tbem  with  more  bitter  hostility  than  any  other  of  his 
ents.  Being  as.  it  is  nearly  allied  both  to  Judaism  and 
lanity,  and  forming  to  a  certain  extent  a  compromise  be- 
tween 


220  Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism. 

tween  the  two,  it  is  worth  while  to  inquire  into  the  exact  relai 
which  Islam  bears  to  these  creeds. 

The  essence  of  Mohammedanism  is  its  assertion  of  the  m 
of  God  as  opposed  to  Polytheism,  and  even  to  Trinitaiiuu 
He  is  a  living,  personal,  omniscient,  omnipotent  Grod,  as 
Hebrew  prophets  describe  him.  The  central  truth  of  Itl 
then,  was  nothing  new ;  it  was,  as  Mohammed  said  of  it, 
ancient  faith  of  Abraham,  and  it  was  upon  that  faith  that 
greatness  of  the  Jewish  nation  was  founded  ;  nay,  it  was  the  d 
which  Christ  himself  made  more  fully  known  and  understooc 

One  great  difference,  however,  between  Judaism  and  Moha 
medanism  is  that  the  former  is  not  a  proselytising  religi 
while  the  latter  emphatically  is  so.  All  the  laws  and  ordinal 
of  the  Pentateuch,  all  the  revelations  of  the  Old  Testament, 
for  the  Jew  alone,  and  the  Gentile  was  excluded  with  jesl 
care  from  the  enjoyment  of  any  of  the  divine  privileges  n 
Christianity  proclaimed  that  revelation  was  for  the  world 
large.  The  Arab,  on  the  contrary,  was  enjoined  to  props( 
his  religion.  ^  There  is  no  God  but  God,'  and  man  must 
^  resigned  to  His  will,'  and  if  he  will  not,  he  must  be  mad 
be  so ;  this  is  what  Islam  or  ^  resignation '  really  means. 

But,  it  may  be  asked,  why,  if  Mohammed  preached  notb 
more  than  the  central  truth  of  Judaism  and  Christianity, 
he  not  rather  accept  one  or  other  of  these  creeds,  than  f<y 
a  new  one  ?  To  answer  this  question,  we  must  r^ard  Joda 
and  Christianity  not  as  they  are  understood  now,  but  as  t 
existed  in  Arabia  in  Mohammed's  time.  Judaism  was  efi 
Christianity  corrupt,  and  only  a  debased  form  of  it  profes 
The  Hebrew  nation  had  fallen,  and  Magian  superstitions 
Rabbinic  inventions  had  obscured  the  primeval  simplicity 
the  Hebrew  faith  and  marred  the  grandeur  of  its  law. 
Christians  were  forgetful  alike  of  the  old  Revelation  and  of 
new,  and  neglecting  the  teachings  of  their  Divine  Master,  i 
split  up  into  numerous  sects — '  Homoousians  and  Homoiousi 
Monothelites  and  Monophysites,  Jacobites  and  Eutychians,' 
the  like — who  had  little  in  common  but  the  name  of  Christi 
and  the  cordial  hatred  with  which  they  regarded  each  other. 

Mohammed  certainly  wished  his  religion  to  be  looked  V 
as  a  further  fulfilment  of  Christianity,  just  as  Christianity  is 
fulfilment  of  Judaism.  He  regards  our  Lord  with  paxtici 
veneration,  and  even  goes  so  far  as  to  call  Him  the  *  Spirit' 
*Word'  of  God;  'the  Messiah,  Jesus,  the  son  of  Mary, 
only  the  Apostle  of  God  and  His  Word,  which  he  cast  tt 
Mary  and  a  Spirit  from  Him'  (Sura  4,  v.  169).  The  reifl 
tion,  '  is  only  the  Apostle,'  &c.,  is  ^directed  against  the  mist 

cef 


Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism,  221 

oepdon  of  the  Christian  doctrine  which  was  then  prevalent 
in  Arabia,  and  which  was  the  only  one  with  which  Mohammed 
was  acquainted.  With  the  Arab  Christian,  the  Trinity  meant 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  tritheism,  and  these  three  the 
Father,  Vii^in-Mother,  and  Son. 

U^  with  these  views  before  him  as  the  professed  belief  of  Chris- 
tians— ^with  the  childish  legends  of  the  Gospels  of  '  the  Infancy ' 
and  of  St.  Barnabas  related  to  him  as  the  true  Gospel — Moham- 
med could  still  show  such  reverence  and  admiration  for  Christ 
and  His  work,  as  he  undoubtedly  does,  we  surely  have  no  right 
to  brand  his  doctrine  as  damnable  and  unchristian : — 

*  Mohammed,'  obseryes  Mr.  Smith, '  offered  to  the  Arabs  an  idea  of 
God  less  sympathetic  and  less  loveable,  indeed,  but  as  sublime  as  the 
(ftzistian,  and  perhaps  still  more  intense,  and  one,  as  it  turned  out, 
ikieh  thej  could  receive.  Christianity  was  compelled  to  leave  its 
Uzihplace-— the  inhabitants  and  subsequent  history  of  which  is 
iiroely  a£focted,  except  indirectly — to  find  its  proper  home  in  the 
Wefitem  world,  among  the  inhabitants  and  progressive  civilisation  of 
Gieeoe  and  Bome.  The  lot  of  Mohammedanism  has  been  different : 
''it  is  the  religion  of  the  shepherd  and  the  nomad,  of  the  burning 
desert  and  the  boundless  steppe."  So  admirably  suited  was  it  to  the 
ngion  in  which  it  was  bom,  that  it  needed  no  foreign  air  or  change 
ddrcnnistance  to  develop  it' — p.  283. 

Such  being  the  facts  of  its  origin  and  existence,  and  such  the 
nature  of  the  creed,  Mr.  Smith  demands  for  it  a  more  generous 
noognition  by  Christians : — 

*lalim  ought  not  to  be  treated  with  a  merely  contemptuous  or 
dutant  recognition,  or  to  be  inserted,  tanquam  infamicB  causa,  '*  Jews, 
Tvrka,  Infidels  and  Heretics,"  in  a  collect,  once  a  year,  upon  that  day 
of  all  others  upon  which  the  universality  of  Ohrist*s  self-sacrifice  is 
hoQght  before  i2S.'~p.  259. 

The  early  medieval  writers  did  treat  Mohammedans  as  sec- 
tiries  rather  than  Pagans ;  John  Cantacuzene,  the  Greek  Em- 

Krof  Constantinople,  wrote  against '  the  Saracen  Heresy,'  and 
te  placed  Mohammed  in  his  '  Inferno  *  not  as  a  heathen  but 
•aaheretic ;  *  and  is  there  any  reason,'  asks  Mr.  Bosworth  Smith, 

*  why  our  notion  of  Christianity  should  be  less  comprehensive 
fttnthat  of  the  patriot  Greek  Emperor,  or  of  the  Christian  poet  ?' 

Islam  is  chiefly  characterised  by  its  intense  hatred  of  idolatry, 
which  is  evinced  in  *  horror  of  all  objective  symbols,  in  the  sim- 
plicity of  its  liturgical  forms,  in  the  absence  of  a  priestly  caste, 
■od  therefore  of  all  belief  in  such  doctrines  as  those  of  apostolical 
•'iccession,  inherent  sanctity,  indissoluble  vows,  the  duty  of  con- 
*^on  or  powers  of  absolution '  (pp.  265,  266). 

b  its  iconoclasm,  its  rigid  observance  of  religious  duties,  its 

complete 


322  Mohammed  and  MohammedamMou 

complete  blending  of  religious  and  worldly  daties,  it  bean 
strong  resemblance  to  the  Poritanism  of  the  English  Conunoi 
weal^;  and  this  likeness  is  shown  even  in  the  nomenchtn 
which  Musulmans  Mfect.  Amongst  the  Poiitans  the  asm 
selected  for  children  were  either  those  of  some  ScriptimJ  pe 
sonage,  or  some  phrAse  implying  fenroor  in  die  canse  of  Go 
So  in  Muslim  families  soch  names  as  Mohammed  and  Ali  ranlai 
the  Emmanuel,  John  (Jean  Baptiste),  &€.,  amongst  onmTQ 
while  Mohammedan  history  is  full  of  such  names  as  'Tl 
Ruler  by  the  order  of  God/  '  He  who  relies  on  God/  <  Tl 
Aider  of  the  religion  of  God  /  and  such  cognomens  as  N6m  i 
difiy  '  The  Aider  of  or  Victorious  in  the  faith,'  are  soffidoit] 
familiar  in  the  present  day.  To  this  same  Pniitanical  vpx 
may  be  also  traced  the  irresistible  valour  and  success  of  the  esil 
Khalifs  and  their  followers,  as  well  as  the  great  way  msde  i 
more  recent  times  by  the  uncompromising  tenets  of  the  WahhW 

The  rest  of  Islam,  all  that  makes  up  the  system  beside  d 
great  doctrine  of  the  Unity  of  God  and  the  necessity  fiir  ml 
mission  to  Him,  is  a  mere  selection  from,  and  modincaticm  c 
then  existing  beliefs  and  superstitions. 

The  doctrine  of  a  future  life  which  it  inculcates,  though  n* 

universal  among  the  Arab  tribes,  existed  amongst  them,  as  it  h 

done  with  every  other  nation,  even  the  most  barbarous.    It  i 

indeed,  the  mainspring  of  all  religion.    The  desire  innate  in  ms 

that  he  should  not   altogether  perish,  naturally  develops  vbl' 

hope,  and  this  hope  Revelation  so  easily  and    authoritative 

satisfies.     Indeed,  nothing  but  Revelation  can  do  so;  Sden« 

can  ^o  no  further  than  to  say,  ^  Man  may  have  an  hereafter,  bi 

he  has  no  right  to  expect  it.'     Prayer,  too,  is  similarly  the  e: 

pression  of  a  desire  that  things  may  go  on  as  we  wish  them,  so 

is  a  natural  aspiration  common  to  all  creeds  and  peoples.    ^ 

such  it  naturally  found  a  place  in  Islam.    Fasting  and  almsgiria 

— the  one  as  a  physical,  the  latter  as  a  moral  discipline  as  we 

as  proceeding  from  a  generous  impulse  of  the  heart — ^were  incc^ 

poratcd  into  Mohanmiedanism  for  similar  reasons.     Pilgrimaf 

the  last  great  ordinance  of  Islam,  could  scarcely  be  banished  isoi 

any  land,  much  less  from  Arabia.     The  vulgar  crowd  flod^  '^ 

the  scene  of  a  murder  or  an  accident,  and  gaze  on  the  surTonndioC 

with  something  of  the  awe  which  the  events  inspire.    So,  ^ 

the  scenes  hallowed  by  the  presence  of  some  great  public  be»< 

factor  or   great    spiritual    leader,  come   to  be  regarded  by  I* 

followers  with  something  of  the  devotion  felt   for  the  jBa** 

himself.      The    pilgrims   of   Jerusalem,   Mecca,   Hurdvar,   < 

Lounlos,  only  ol>ey  a  common  impulse  of  human  nature. 

At  Mecca  Mohammed  found  a  shrine  to  which,  as  well  as  « 

whicJ 


Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism.  223 

which,  devotion  had  been  paid  from  time  immemorial :  it  was 
the  one  thing  which  the  scattered  Arabian  nation  had  in  com- 
moii — ^the  one  thing. which  gave  them  even  the  shadow  of  a 
national  fieeling ;  and  to  have  dreamed  of  abolishing  it,  or  .even 
of  diminishing  the  honours  paid  to  it,  would  have  been  madness 
and  min  to  his  enterprise.  He  therefore  did  the  next  best  thing, 
he  deared  it  of  idols  and  dedicated  it  to  the  service  of  God. 
What  the  KaVbeh  or  '  Square  building '  was,  Mr.  Smith  tells  us. 
It 


'a  sfazine  of  immemorial  antiquity,  one  which  Diodoms  Sioidus, 

fthmulied  yeazB  belbre  the  Christian  era,  tells  us,  was  even  then  the 

'  jbost  anciaBt,  and  was  exceedingly  revered  by  the  whole  Arab  race." 

The  traditions  of  the  Eaabeh  ran  iMick  to  Ishmael  and  Abraham,  nay, 

efon^to  Beth  and  Adam;  and  as  its  name,  ''Beit  allah,"  shows,  it 

OD^t  in  its  first  rude  shape  have  been  erected  by  some  such  ancient 

utrisich  as  he  who  raised  a  pillar  of  rough  stone,  where  in  his  sleep 

lie  bad  seen  the  angels  ascending,  and  call^  it  ''Bethel  or  Beit  Allah: 

ttu8  is  the  house  of  God,  and  this  is  the  gate  of  Heaven." ' — ^Pp.  166, 167. 

It  is  a  curious  thing  that  the  rite  of  circumcision  is  not  men- 
tioned in  the  Coi^in ;  but  there  is  no  doubt  that  Mohammed 
insisted  upon  it  as  an  antidote  to  more  cruel  and  dangerous 
practices.*  As  for  the  angelism  and  demonology  of  the  Cor'an, 
thej  are  a  mixture  of  local  superstitions  and  Persian  and  Jewish 
tradition.  The  system  was  certainly  not  due  to  Mohammed's 
invention,  but  was  evolved  out  of  what  he  had  heard  from 
Jewish  and  Christian  sources,  and  regarded  as  revelation,  being 
floured  by  his  own  local  beliefs. 

The  mission  of  Mohammed,  then,  appealed  forcibly  to  the 

'^^bs  on  many  grounds.    Compared  with  the  prevalent  idolatry 

^  the  time,  the  idea  as  presented  was  so  grand,  so  simple,  and 

^  true,  that  reason  could  [scarcely  hesitate  between  the  two 

'J^tems,  unless,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Kureish,  self-interest  were 

***^own  into  the  scale.     Side  by  side  with  the  corrupted  religion 

^^  the  Jews  and  Christians,  as  we  have  just  described  them,  it 

^P!p«ared  more  spiritual  and  more  divine,  and  presented  the 

^ttis  of  both  religions  without  the  blemishes.     It  harmonised 

^^'^li  the  traditional  Semitic  belief,  Arab  as  well  as  Jewish,  of 

^^    coming  of  a  Messiah,  or  at  least  of  a  Prophet,  who  should 

f^^^al  the  Truth  at  last,  and  set  right  the  order  of  things  which 

^^   spiritually  and  temporally  gone  so  wrong.     And  lastly,  it 

^"Ij^^ie  no  call  on  their  credulity ;  it  only  asked  them  to  believe 

'^^^J^t  they  might  well  accept  as  self-evident,  and  it  only  laid 

^*^^:in  to  one  miracle,  that  of  the  marvellous  eloquence  of  its 

note  to  Tol.  iit,  page  110,  of  Barton's  *  Mecca  and  Medina.'    2nd  Edition. 

deliverv. 


224  Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism. 

delivery,  and  this  neither  friends  nor  foes  could  deny.  It  must 
not  be  forgotten  that  this  claim  of  the  Cor'dn  to  miracnloas 
eloquence,  however  absurd  it  may  sound  to  Western  ears,  was 
and  is  to  the  Arab  incontrovertible. 

In  order  to    understand   the   immense   influence  which  the 
Cor* an  has  always  exercised  upon  the  Arab  mind,  it  is  necessary 
to  remember  that  it  consists  not  merely  of  the  enthusiastic  utter- 
ances  of  an   individual,   but  of  the   popular    sayings,    choice 
pieces  of  eloquence,  and  favourite  legends  current  among  the 
desert  tribes  for  ages  before  his  time.     Arabic  authon  speak 
frequently  of  the  celebrity  attained  by  the  ancient  Arabic  oraton, 
such  as  Sheiban  WaKl,  but  unfortunately  no  specimen  of  their 
works  have  come  down  to  us.     The  Cor'an,  however,  enables  us 
to  judge  of  the  nature  of  their  speeches  which  took  so  strong  a 
hold  upon  their  countrymen,  and  the  following  chapter,  which 
in  the  original  is  to  an  Arab  ear  the  very  acme  of  sublimity, 
may  be  taken  as  a  fair  specimen  : — 

'  By  the  sun  and  his  noon-day  brightness ; 
By  the  moon  when  she  f olloweth  him ; 
By  the  day  when  it  revealeth  him ; 
By  the  night  when  it  veileth  him ; 
By  the  heaven  and  what  built  it ; 
By  the  earth  and  what  spread  it ; 
By  the  soul  and  what  &diioned  it ; 
And  inspired  it  with  its  vice  or  virtue ; 
He  prospereth  who  purifieth  it ; 
He  faileth  who  defileth  it ; 

Thamud  in  its  rebellion  called  (the  Prophet)  liar ; 
When  the  wretch  of  the  tribe  rushed  up ; 
And  the  Apostle  of  God  said  to  them  '^  it  is  God's 

she-camel,  wherefore  give  it  to  drink ; " 
But  they  called  him  liar,  and  they  hamstringed  it, 
And  their  Lord  destroyed  them  in  their  sin,  and 

levelled  the  tribe, 
And  He  doth  not  fear  the  result.' 

In  the  original  of  this  chapter  the  disconnected  form  of 
composition  is,  to  an  Oriental,  more  than  atoned  for  by 
elegance  of  the  phrases  and  the  exquisitely  rhythmical  cadeim^^ 
of  each  sentence.  The  subject-matter,  too,  is  well  worth  noti<?^  * 
the  first  seven  verses  are  oaths  by  the  various  powers  of  heav^^ 
and  earth,  that  those  only  are  happy  who  keep  the  soul  free  fira^^ 
stain  ;  at  the  same  time  it  is  insinuated  that  the  Creator  ixisX^^-^f 
into  the  human  soul  the  good  or  evil  which  is  found  there.  T"*^^ 
last  portion  of  the  Siira  alludes,  to  a  legend,  referred  to  seve 
times  in  the  Cor'an,  of  a  certain  Nebf  Sdleh,  who  was  sent  a. 

propb*  ^* 


Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism.  225 

prophet  to  the  people  of  Thamiid,  and  whose  divine  mission 
was  attested  by  the  miraculous  production  of  a  she-camel  out  of 
the  rock.  This  legend,  in  all  probability,  grew  out  of  the 
history  of  Moses ;  the  '  she-camel  with  milk '  representing  the 
water  that  issued  from  the  rock  to  feed  the  thirsting  tribes.  The 
legend  is  actually  current  in  the  peninsula  of  Sinai,  and  the 
Arabs  there  to  the  present  day  show  the  Athar  Ndgat  en  Neh(^ 
*  the  footprint  of  the  Prophet's  she-camel,'  as  well  as  the  tomb  of 
Nebi  Saleh,  *  the  righteous  Prophet,'  himself.* 

Perhaps  the  most  beautiful  and  characteristic  passage  in  the 
whole  Cor^an  is  that  known  as  the  Ayet  el  Kursi^  or  '  Verse  of 
the  Throne  * : 

'God,  there  is  no  Gk)d  but  He,  the  living,  the  eternal.  Slumber 
^  not  overtake  Him,  neither  sleep ;  to  Him  belongeth  all  that  is  iu 
bttTen  and  earth.  Who  is  he  that  can  intercede  with  Him  save  by  His 
own  permission  ?  He  knoweth  that  which  is  past  and  that  which  is 
to  oome  unto  them,  and  they  shall  not  comprehend  anything  of  His 
bu)wledge  but  so  far  as  He  pleaseth.  His  throne  is  extended  over 
heaven  and  earth,  and  the  upholding  of  both  is  no  burden  to  Him. 
He  is  the  Lofty  and  the  Great' 

f^Qd  in  the  same  Sura,  as  the  author  of  the  Lectures  points  out, 
^  the  summary  of  the  morality  of  the  book : — 

'  There  is  no  piety  in  turning  your  faces  towards  the  east  or  the 
^Q8i,  but  he  is  pious  who  believeth  in  God,  and  the  last  day,  and  the 
^ngels,  and  the  Scriptures,  and  the  Prophets ;  who  for  love  of  God 
disborseth  his  wealth  to  his  kindred,  and  to  the  orphans,  and  the 
^^Q^y,  and  the  way&rer,  and  those  who  ask,  and  for  ransoming; 
^ho  observeth  prayer  and  payeth  the  legal  alms,  and  who  is  of  those 
^^  are  faithful  to  their  engagements  when  they  have  engaged  in 
^em,  and  patient  under  ills  and  hardships  and  in  time  of  trouble ; 
^Q8Q  are  they  who  are  just,  and  those  who  fear  the  Lord.' 

t^   a  whole  the  Cor'an  is  disconnected,  as  might  be  expected 
^^Hi  the  manner  in  which  it  was  compiled  : — 

^^^  Dictated  ^m  time  to  time  by  Mohammed  to  his  disciples,  it  was 
^  them  partly  treasured  in  their  memories,  partly  written  down  on 
^l^i^d^-bones  of  mutton,  on  bits  of  wood  or  tablets  of  stone,  which 
I^Qing  thrown  pell-mell  into  boxes,  and  jumbled  up  together  like  the 
^^•▼es  of  the  CunuBan  Sibyl  after  a  gust  of  wind,  were  not  put  into 
**^y  shape  till  after  the  Prophet's  death,  by  order  of  Abu  Bakr.  The 
^^^k  of  the  editor  consisted  simply  in  arranging  the  Suras  in  the 
^^'^er  of  their  respective  length,  the  longest  first,  the  shortest  last ; 
'IJ^  though  the  book  once  afterwards  passed  through  the  editor's 
'^^'lids,  th^  is  substantiiAly  the  shape  in  which  the  Koran  has  come 

*  Palmer's  '  Desert  of  the  Exodus,*  p.  50. 
Vol.  143.— iVb.  285.  Q  down 


226  Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism. 

down  to  us.  Yarions  readings  which  wonld  seom,  howeyer,  to  have 
been  of  very  slight  importance,  having  crept  into  the  different  copi089 
a  revising  Committee  was  appointed  by  order  of  the  Ehalif  Othmau, 
and  an  authorised  edition  having  been  thus  prepared  "  to  prevent  ibe 
texts  differing,  like  those  of  the  Jews  and  Christians,"  all  pievioas 
copies  were  collected  and  bnmt.* — Pp.  176,  177. 

The  Bible  and  Cor'an  can  scarcely  be  compared.  The  former 
with  its  two  distinct  revelations,  its  books  of  different  d&te, 
purport,  and  language,  has  a  composite  character  quite  different 
from  that  of  the  Mohammedan  scriptures,  which  claim  to  l>e  a 
Cor'an,  i,e,  '  a  Reading '  in  plain  Arabic. 

The  tefsir^  or  '  interpretation  of  the  Cor'an,'  plays  an  importxB.nt 
part  in  Islam,  as  with  this  is  connected  that  which  forms    'fche 
real  fabric  of  the  religious  system,  the  Sunneh,  or  secondary  l»w 
based  upon  the  sayings  traditionally  ascribed  to  the  Propbct. 
This  study  was  the  first,  and  indeed  the  only  kind  of  literatuire 
encouraged  by  the  early  followers  of  Mohammed;  and  althoiBg^b 
it  may  not  at  first  sight  appear  a  profitable  or  even  an  interest  i-Og 
one,  it  is  in  reality  to  these  commentaries  that  we  are  indeb't:^^ 
for  the  preservation  and  transmission  to  posterity  of  many  straxxg^ 
doctrines  and  many  passages  of  ancient  history,  which  woi^'^ 
hiive  otherwise  been  irretrievably   lost  to  the  world.      In  ttl^^ 
point  of  view  they  are  even  more  valuable  than  the  Rabbini^^*** 
Talmuds  themselves  ;  for  in  the  latter  case  we  have  traditi^^*^ 
corrupted  by  the  speculations  of  schoolmen,  while  in  the  cas^    ^ 
the  Coranic  Commentaries  w^e  have  for  the  most  part  the  popi^l  ^■J 
legends  of  the  unlettered  Bedouin  of  the  desert.     Mohamnc*^^ 
himself  unwittingly  points  out  tliis  distinction  when  he  spe^»-*^^ 
of  the  Jews  and  Christians  as  Ahl  el  Kitdh^  or  '  People  who  h«»'"^"'^ 
the  Scriptures,'  and  delights  to  designate  himself  as  en  wMw^     ^ 
ummiy  '  the  illiterate  prophet '  (p.  240). 

The  alleged  verbal  inspiration  of  the  Coranic  text  introduc^"^^ 
many  complications  between  questions  of  theology  and  gramns.  ^^-^^ 
and  the  Moslem  doctors,  therefore,  proceeded  to  inquire  minut^^-"^-? 
into  the  structure  and  vocabulary  of  their  language;  wl»- ^^^ 
parallel  with  these  studies  went  that  of  the  *  Sayings  of  Moha,  y*^' 
med,'  the  secondary  or  oral  traditional  law  of  Islam.  X  "^t^^ 
result  of  this  has  been  the  production  of  one  of  the  most  elabor^^^ 
grammatical  systems  and  the  richest  lexicographical  literature  *^ 
the  world. 

We  now  come  to  the  consideration  of  the  manner  in  whi 
the  various  important  problems  of  society  are  dealt  with 
Islam,  such  as  the  relations  of  liusband  and  wife,  parent  a 
child,  master  and  slaves.     The  Cor'jin,  like  the  New  Testame 
accepts  the  institution  of  slavery  as  a  fact  so  well  establish 


Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism.  227 

that  it  does  not  seem  to  consider  it  necessary  either  to  sanction 
or  forbid  it.  It,  however,  did  set  itself  to  ameliorate  the  condition 
of  the  slave. 

In  the  Cor'an  the  word  '  slave '  is  scarcely  used,  the  usual 
paraphrase  being  '  those  whom  your  right  hands  possess,'  and 
particularly  referring  to  '  prisoners  of  war.'  Such  captives,  if 
thej  became  Muslims,  were  ipso  facto  free ;  and  the  Muslim 
scriptures  everywhere  enjoin  the  greatest  kindness  and  con- 
sideration towards  those  who  remain  in  slavery.  Concubinage 
with  a  female  captive  it  did  allow,  but  the  woman  who  had  borne 
a  child  to  her  master  could  never  be  separated  from  it,  and 
became  free  at  the  master's  death. 

These  humane  provisions,  as  Mr.  Smith  points  out,  are  '  such 
as  no  European  or  American  power  ever  enrolled  in  its  code 
of  taws  till  the  wave  of  total  abolition  swept  over  Christendom.' 
The  freed  slave  in  Muslim  countries,  too,  suffers  no  social  degra- 
dation from  his  antecedents ;  he  is  accepted  as  at  once  the  equal 
of  those  around  him,  and,  as  history  has  frequently  shown,  may 
rise  to  the  highest  rank  and  offices. 

Slavery,    indeed,  as  Mohammed   left  and   regulated  it,   was 
*>y  no  means  an  unmixed  evil.     Slavery  as  it  exists  now,  in 
spite  of  treaties  and  conventions,  can  hardly  be  so  favourably 
'^garded.     The  wretched  traffic  in  girls  to  fill  the  harems  of 
^Hsual  pashas,   the  horrible  system  by  which    the   guardians 
^f  these  disreputable  dens  are  supplied — chiefly  from  establish- 
ments on  Egyptian  territory,  and  with  the  connivance  of  the 
^Ucdive — these,  the  real  horrors  of  slavery,  are  a  disgrace  to 
*^^Uiianity ;  but  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  they  are  not  so 
^Uch  the  product  of  Islam  as  of  the  gross  barbarism  and  brutality 
^f  the  Turks. 

The  greatest  blot  upon  Mohammedanism  is  polygamy,  which, 

^y  keeping  women  in  a  state  of  degradation  and  by  fostering 

^Ojuality,  has  rendered  the  practice  of  family  virtues  impos- 

5jl>le,  and  tended  more  than  anything  else  to  the  degeneration  of 

^^stern  races.     But,  as  the  work  before  us  insists,  Mohammed 

^^«  not  responsible  for  this ;  and  although  he  was  forced  to 

I^i^mit  the  continuance  of  the  custom,  which  patriarchs,  judges, 

P^^phets,  and  kings  had  perpetuated,  yet  he  materially  modified 

^     and  placed   upon  it  some   most   salutary  restrictions.     He 

^^tricted,  above  all,  the  unlimited  license  of  divorce  which  pre- 

^led  before  his  time  ;  he  abolished  the  horrible  practice  of 

**^iirdering  their  daughters,  for  which  the  Arabs  were  infamous ; 

^^d  by  all  these,  according  to  his  lights  and  those  of  the  age  in 

^^^xiehhe  lived,  he  did  much  to  elevate  the  position  of  women 

^^^Ongst  his  people : — 

Q  2  'The 


228  Molutmrned  and  Mohammedanism. 

'  The  Arabs  of  the  Ignorance,  who  belieyod  in  any  form  of  a  fntne 
life,  denied  all  share  in  it  to  women,  and  Mohammed  has  been  thought 
bj  many  to  have  done  the  same;  but  the  Koran  says,  ''  whoso  doeth 
good  works  and  is  a  true  believer,  whether  male  or  female,  shall  be 
admitted  into  Paradise."  An  old  woman  onoe  came  to  the  Prophet 
begging  him  to  intercede  with  God  that  she  might  be  admitted  into 
Paradise.  '*  No  old  woman  finds  admittance  there,"  replied  Mohammad. 
She  burst  into  tears ;  when  Mohammed  smiled,  and  with  the  kindly 
hmnoor  which  was  characteristic  of  him,  said,  *'  No  old  woman,  for 
all  will  there  be  young  again." ' 

This  leads  us  to  another  very  important  question,  that  of  the 
Mohammedan  view  of  Paradise  and  the  influence  which  it 
exercises  upon  Mohammedan  society.  In  dealing  with  this, 
Mr.  Bosworth  Smith  maintains  that  Mohammed*s  view  was 
no  more  sensual  than  that  taken  by  other  nations,  viz.  that  Para- 
dise is  but  the  happiness  of  the  present  life  intensified,  and  that 
in  defining  it  any  people  must  necessarily  express  themselves 
in  terms  drawn  from  their  experiences  of  pleasure  here.  Thus 
Mohammed  promises  to  the  good  Muslim,  after  death,  what 
the  wanderer  in  the  thirsty  desert  must  seem  the  acme  of  enjoy 
ment — cool,  shady  gardens  with  bubbling  fountains  and  runnii^ 
streams ;  with  the  companionship  of  black-eyed  houris  ( 
name  and  attributes  borrowed,  by  the  by,  from  the  Persian), 
certain  luxurious  necessaries,  such  as  perfumes,  cushions,  caipefc  ^ 
&c.  Similarly  the  Red  Indian  dreams  of  a  happy  hnntin. 
ground  beyond  the  clouds,  and  the  Norseman  thought  that 
death  he  should  drink  ale  for  ever  from  the  skulls  of  b^is 
enemies  slain  in  battle. 

The  question,  however,  is  scarcely  what  did  Mohammed  nxc»^ 
by  his  descriptions,  but  what  effect  have  they  had  upon  his  fol- 
lowers, and  how  are  they  actually  interpreted  by  the  maa^  ^^ 
Mohammedans  at  the  present  day?  If  the  Prophet  pictixJ^ 
the  joys  of  Heaven  in  glowing  colours,  he  was  no  less  cirei3H^" 
stantial  and  vivid  in  his  description  of  the  torments  of  HC^^^ » 
and  it  is  clear  that  these  vivid  pictures  contributed  gre^W 
towards  inspiring  the  valour  of  the  early  propagators  of  "^^ 
creed,  and  while  it  is  certain  that  they  tend  to  make  *Pf 
Muslim  of  the  present  day  earnest  in  his  religious  exercise^^  ^ 
is  very  doubtful  whether  the  sensuality  of  his  Heaven  m^J^^ 
him  a  whit  the  more  sensual,  any  more  than  the  gloominess 
his  Hell  makes  him  gloomy  and  miserable.  , 

On  this,  as  on  riiost  other  points  in  the  inquiry,  Mr.  Bosw^^^^ 
Smith  appears   to  have  formed  a  very  sound   opinion.     *I^*^ 
following  passage,  for  instance,  contains  a  very  just  and  sensi*^ 
summary  of,  and  apology  for,  the  morality  of  Islam  : — 

<P6rb^l* 


Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism.  229 

'  Perhaps  there  is  no  remark  one  has  heard  more  often  about 
Mohammedanism  than  that  it  was  so  snccessful  because  it  was  so 
sensual,  but  there  is  none  more  destitute  of  truth ;  as  if  any  religion 
could  owe  its  permanent  success  to  its  bad  morality  I     I  do  not  say 
that  its  morality  is  perfect  or  equal  to  the  Christian  morality. 
Mohammed  did  not  make  the  manners  of  Arabia,  and  he  was  too  wise 
to  think  that  he  could  either  unmake  or  remake  them  all  at  once. 
Solon  remarked  of  his  own  legislation  that  his  laws  were  not  the  best 
that  he  could  deyise;  but  that  they  were  the  best  the  Athenians 
oould  receiye ;  and  his  defence  has  generally  been  accepted  as  a  sound 
one.     Moses  took  the  institutions  of  primitive  society  as  he  found 
them — the  patriarchal  x>ower,  internecine  war,  blood  feuds,  the  right 
of  asylum,  polygamy  and  slavery — ^and  did  not  abolish  any  one  of 
them ;  he  only  mitigated  their  worst  evils,  and  so  unconsciously  pre- 
pared the  way  in  some  cases  for  their  greater  permanence,  in  others 
for  their  eventual  extinction.' — Pp.  232,  233. 

There  are  three  more  points  in  Mohammedanism  of  grave 
importance,  and  these  also  are  dealt  with  in  these  Lectures  with 
^rreat  power  and  ingenuity,  viz.  Miracles,  Fatalism,  and  Jehad, 
or  Waging  Holy  Wars. 

Mohammed  did  not  rest  his  claim  to  be  considered  as  a 
cliTinely-inspired  messenger  upon  miracles ;  indeed,  numerous 
{Passages  of  the  Cor*an  expressly  deny  the  power  of  working 
^bem.  The  thirteenth  Sura,  for  instance,  says : — '  The  unbe- 
iierers  say,  Unless  a  sigh  be  sent  down  with  him  from  his 
liord,  we  will  not  believe.  But  thou  art  a  preacher  only,  O 
Adohammed.'  In  pointing  out  as  he  does  the  inability  of 
^^raculous  signs  to  convince  where  moral  evidence  has  failed, 
^dohammed  was  approaching  much  more  nearly  than  is  supposed 
'^o  the  teaching  of  Christ  himself,  who  repeatedly  reproves  his 
l^earers  for  demanding  a  sign,  and  who  said,  ^  That  if  a  man 
l^elieved  not  Moses  and  the  Prophets,  not  even  would  he  repent 
^boagh  one  rose  from  the  dead.'  With  regard  to  the  second 
J>oint,  the  fatalism  of  Islam,  the  author  seeks  not  so  much  to 
^bow  that  the  doctrine  is  not  held  by  Muslims,  as  to  prove  that 
it  does  not  necessarily  belong  to  the  spirit  of  the  creed.  He 
^jTg^ues,  very  plausibly,  that '  it  is  not  possible  for  any  religion 
to  reconcile  the  conflicting  dogmas  of  the  foreknowledge  of  God 
Quid  the  free-will  of  man.'  The  fact  is  that  the  doctrine  of 
CDmnipotence  and  Omniscience  naturally  leads  to  fatalism,  but 
tliat,  though  men  accept  it  in  theory,  they  almost  invariably 
I'eject  it  in  practice.     To  quote  the  words  of  the  Lectures  : — 

*  The  prayers  that  he  (Mohammed)  enjoined  five  times  a  day  are 

offered  with   full  confidence  in   their  efQcacy  by  all   devout 

IMusalmans ;  and  the  cry  of  the  Muezzin,  before  daybreak,  from  a 

xnyziad  mosques  and  minarets — *'  Prayer  is  better  than  sleep,  prayer 

is 


230  Molmmmed  and  Mohammedanism, 

is  bettor  tlian  sleep  " — is  a  living  witness,  wherever  the  inflnonoe  of 
the  Prophet  of  Arabia  has  extended,  more  vivid  than  the  letter  of  the 
Koran  itself,  overpowering  oven  the  lethargy  and  quietism  of  the 
East,  to  Mohammed's  belief  in  God's  providential  government  of  the 
•world  and  in  the  freedom  of  man's  will.' — p.  196. 

The  third  point  is  that  of  the  Jehdd^  or  war  for  the  sake  of 
religion.  Premising  that  the  religion  which  Mohammed  taught 
was  one  of  fear  of  and  obedience  to  God  rather  than  of  love  for 
Him  in  the  Christian  sense,  Mr.  Bosworth  Smith  says : — 

'  Though  he  must  in  any  case  have  foreseen  that  it  was  impossihle 
to  force  men  to  love  Ood,  it  may  have  crossed  his  mind  that  it  was 
possible  to  force  men  to  abstain  from  idolatry,  to  acknowledge  God 
with  their  lips,  to  fear  and  to  obey  Him,  at  all  events,  in  their  outward 
acts.' 

And  this  appears  to  strike  at  the  root  of  the  question. 

In  his  character,  of  Founder  of  a  Religion,  Mohammed's  lif^ 
at  Mecca  was  not  inconsistent  with  his  profession ;  but  as 
exile  at  Medina,  and  as  General-in-Chief  of  the  Arabs  and  founde'^c! 
of  an  empire  he  was  driven  by  the  very  force  of  his  position  t^zD 
appeal  to  the  sword.     As  the  author  of  the  Lectures  says,  *  W^  ^^ 
should  not,  as  too  many,  especially  Christians,  do,  condecxi^^BC^ 
the  Prophet  for  the  drastic  energy  of  the  leader,  and  the  iead^^r 
for  the   shortcomings  of  the   Prophet.'     That  the  position       '^^^ 
which   Mohammed  I  found  himself  after   his   flight,    'the  e:^^^" 
gencies  of  his  exiled  followers  —  the  need  of  sustenance,  *::-^3C 
appetite  for  plunder,  the  desire  of  revenge,  and  the  longing    :M^<y^ 
their  homes,  no  less  than  the  impending  attack  of  the  Kure  :^  ^° 
— drove  the  Prophet  for  the  first  time  to  place  himself  at  tb.  ^s?"  Jr 

head,  and  for  temporal  purposes  to  unsheath  the  sword,' ^ 

this  may  be  very  true,  and  it  may  be  equally  true  that  Ch^^^^ 
tian  nations  and  Christian  priests  have  punished  heresy  or  c^^*^" 
vinced  unbelief  by  appealing  also  to  the  sword ;  but,  accordS-  '^^ 
to  the  old  adage, '  two  wrongs  do  not  make  one  right,'  and  we  f4^^^ 
that,  in  spite  of  the  able  apology  which  the  author  of  th^^^ 
Lectures  makes  for  the  wars  of  Islam,  it  will  be  always  h^^* 
to  detract  from  the  character  of  that  religion  as  a  divine  insti'^^*^' 
tion  that  it  relied  rather  upon  the  power  of  the  sword  to  advar:^^^ 
it  than  upon  the  power  of  its  innate  truth  to  enforce  convictio^^^* 

That  Mohammedanism  was  literally  a  Church  Militant,  figK^^^ 
ing  under  one  sole  head — Mohammed,  or  his  lawful  Klialifek      ^^ 
'Successor' — was  a  great  element  in  its  success.     The  absol'  ^^*' 
merging  of  both  spiritual  and  temporal  power  in  this  one  m 
the  Khalifeh,  made  the  movement  much  more  vigorous. 

While  they  were  fighting  in  hot  enthusiasm  for  God  and  t-^^^^ 
faith,  with  '  Paradise  before  them  and  Hell  and  the  devil  behi  ""'^ 


4i 


Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism.  231 

them,'  as  Mohammed  himself  told  them,  they  were  irresistible. 

But  when  they  had  conquered,  and  when  the  Khalifs,  from  being 

simple  Arab  leaders  became  lords  paramount  of  a  rich  empire, 

they  found  themselves  unfitted  by  habit  and  education  to  enjoy 

the  wealth  within  their  grasp.    Their  Persian  and  Greek  subjects, 

however,  soon  lent  their  aid  to  enable  them  to  surmount  the 

difficulty  and  to  teach  them  the  arts  of  luxury  and  indulgence. 

Theoretically,  the  doctrine  of  the  Jehad  is  a  most  dangerous 
one  for  Christianity,  but  practically  it  is  harmless.     The  word 
of  the  Khalifeh,  if  backed  up  by  afatwd  or  '  legal  opinion  *  of  the 
Sheikh  ul  Islam  as  Primate  of  the  Musulman  Church,  would  be 
in   theory  sufficient  to  cause  a  lev^e  en  masse  of  Mohammedans 
gainst   Christians.      Fortunately,   however,  the  Ottoman  pre- 
tender to  the  Khalifate  and  the  Turkish  Sheikh  ul  Islam  could 
only  influence  a  limited  section  of  the  Mohammedan  world,  and 
political  exigencies  in  other  Muslim  states  would  soon  call  forth 
S^tvm  from  other   authorities  which  would   stultify  any  such 
'xiovement. 

^ot  long  ago,  in  India,  a  question  was  raised  and  discussed 

*>y   various  learned  Muslim   lawyers  which  might  have  had  a 

^^"<einendous  result  for  ourselves.       It  was  nothing  less  than  the 

^luestion   whether   Hindustan  was  a  dar  ul  harb^  or  '  enemies' 

^^onntry,'  that  is,  whether  the  Jehad  was  in  active  or  potential 

existence  there,  and  consequently  whether  or  no  Muslims  could, 

^^"onsistently  with  their  faith,  preserve  their  allegiance  to  their 

5^^ti.Tistian  rulers.     The  decision  was  given  almost  unanimously 

*^  favour  of  peace  and  loyal  submission  to  the  existing  rulers ; 

^^d  the  chief  argument  adduced  in  support  of  this  view  is  a  con- 

'^^^ncing  proof  of  the  truth  of  Mr.  Smith's  theory,  that  not  only  is 

"^lie  iifirit  of  Islam  favourable  to  peace  and  progress,  but  that 

^^ch  spirit  really  does  actuate  its  professors  now.     The  practice 

^f  Mohammed  himself  was  adduced,  namely,  that  when  he  had 

*^<1  siege  to  a  town,  or  declared  war  against  a  tribe  or  people, 

*^®  invariably  delayed  his  operations  until  sunset,  that  he  might 

"^^^^rtain  whether  the  iz&n^  or  '  call  of  prayers,'  was  heard  amongst 

^nem.     If  it  ^ere,  he  refrained  from  the  attack,  maintaining  that 

"^here  the  practice  of  his  religion  was  allowed  by  the  rulers  of 

*^^  place  he  had  no  grievance  against  them.     This  one  argu- 

P^^'it,  and  the  fact  that  the  name  of  our  most  gracious  Sovereign 

^  now  inserted  in  the  Khutheh^  or  *  Friday  bidding  prayer,'  in 

*  Jiiosques  throughout  India,  is  a  sufficient  proof  that  Islam  is 

1^^  antagonistic  either  to  religious  or  political  toleration,  and 

^^t  the  doctrine  of  Jehad,  or  holy  war,  is  not  so  dangerous  or 

^^oarous  an  one  as  is  generally  imagined. 

-having  thus  briefly  discussed  the  origin  of  Islam,  and  the 


232  Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism. 

nature  and  tendency  of  its  principal  doctrines,  the  qnestioK. 
naturally  arises,  by  what  means  has  it  attained  to  its  present 
position  as  the  professed  religion  of  nearly  a  hundred  and  tifiy 
millions  of  human  beings  ? 

Mohammedanism  is  usually  regarded  as  a  stationary  and  un— 
elastic  creed.  It  professes  to  contain  all  that  is  required  for  thc= 
regulation  of  human  life  and  human  thought ;  its  founder  dis 
tinctly  told  his  followers  that  there  was  no  prophet  after  himself; 
it  was  based  upon  the  ideas  and  customs  of  a  Semitic  natioi 
hitherto  isolated  from  the  rest  of  the  world.  How,  then,  is  i^^ 
that  Mohammedanism  is  found  at  the  present  day  to  satisfy  th^^ 
political  and  intellectual  requirements  of  so  many  peoples  o  ^rr 
such  various  habits,  traditions,  and  nationalities? 

To  answer  this  question  satisfactorily  we  must  inquire,  fin^K^ 
what  Islam  really  is ;  and  secondly,  under  what  circumstances  K^t 
was  introduced  to  the  individual  nations  now  professing  it. 

The  fact  is  that  Mohammedanism  almost  at  its  outset  dividtt.^ 
into   two  distinct  religions,  represented   by  the  rival  sects  iKixf 
Sunneh  and  Shiah.     The  former  adhere  rigidly  to  the  precep'te 
of  the  Arabian  prophet,  as  contained  in  the  written  Cor'an 
the  Hadfth  or  oral  traditions.     The  latter  admit  foreign  id( 
which  are  in  reality  utterly  at  variance  with  the  spirit  of  Islaxxi. 
They  have  adopted  as  the  esoteric  doctrine  of  Islam  the  myi^c 
system  of  Sufiism,  which,  originating  in  Persia,  brings  them 
into  direct  contact  with  the  religion  of  India,  and  thus  with 
that  of  the  whole  Aryan  family. 

'  Islam  has  in  the  oourso  of  centuries  and  by  long  contact  "W^^ 
Hindu  idolatry  naturally  made  compromises  with  it.  Some  of  ^^ 
Musalman  saints  are  reverenced  by  the  Hindus  as  well  as  by  ^^ 
Musalmans ;  and  these  last  have  in  their  tmn  accommodated  ^ 
accessories  of  their  Pilgrimages,  of  their  Fasts  and  their  FeastSf  ^ 
the  tastes  of  the  Hindus ;  to  a  religion,  that  is,  which  speaks  sx^^, 
to  the  senses  than  to  the  reason,  to  the  imagination  than  to  the  001^' 
—p.  291. 

Mohammedanism,  then,  has  in  it  elements  of  eclecticism  wbi^^ 

in  spite  of  the  narrow  limits  which  it  has  prescribed  for  it^^ 

render  it  capable  of  being  adapted    to  and  assimilated  ^'^ 

other  forms  of  religion.     Just  as  it  has  admitted  amongst  ^^ 

doctrines  the  primitive  Magian  theosophy  and  mythology    ^ 

Persia ;  and,  in  utter  disregard  of  the  Prophet's  dictum^  '  tb^** 

is  no  monkery  in  Islam,'  has  established  orders  of  mendic*** 

dervishes   and   contemplative  recluses   which  rival   in  nuinb^' 

those   of  the  Romish  church  or  Greek  churches ;  so  in  Ind**' 

it  has  assimilated  itself  with  the  Pantheistic  mythology  of  tb*^ 

country,  and  has  adopted  all  the  Brahminical  observance^  ^ 

caste-. 


Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism.  233 

caste.  The  Cor'an  repeatedly  and  explicitly  says  that  it  is 
lawful  to  eat  with  those  who  have  the  Scriptures,  i.e.,  with 
Jews  and  Christians  ;  the  restrictions  even  upon  wine  and 
unlawful  foods  are  propounded  in  terms  so  lax  and  vague  that 
it  requires  but  little  sophistry  to  evade  them ;  but  for  all  this, 
by  fair  the  greater  number  of  Indian  Musalmans  shrink  with 
horror  from  so  much  as  touching  a  Christian's  cooking  utensils ; 
aod  would  shudder,  as  much  as  any  Hindoo,  at  killing  a  cow. 

The  fact  is,  that  no  matter  what  be  the  form  of  religion 
adopted  by  a  race,  the  aboriginal  traditions  and  prejudices  are 
seldom  if  ever  eradicated.      The  Muslim  Bedawi  Arab   still 
turns  towards  the  sun  to  pray,  and  prostrates  himself  in  adora- 
tion before  the  new  moon.     The  Chinese  Muslim  worships  his 
ancestor  by  a  tablet  hung  up  in  the  very  mosque.     The  rigidly 
Calvinistic  negro  Christian,  as  was  proved  in  many  instances 
daring  the  recent  disturbances  in  Jamaica,  carries  his  fetish  in 
bis   bosom   still.     The  Italian  peasant  worships   the  gods  of 
ancient  Rome,  under  the  style  and  title  of  Christian  saints ;  and 
We  ourselves,  respectable,  church-going,  pagan-hating  Christians 
though  we  be,  keep  the  feast  of  the  nativity  of  our  Lord  with 
^tes  and  emblems   borrowed  from  our  rude  pagan  ancestors. 
What  we  should  do,  then,  in  order  to  understand  the  exact 
influence  of  Islam  upon  any  individual  race  or  people  is,  first 
^  investigate  the  nature  and  origin  of  the  creed  itself,  and  next 
^  observe  how  much  of  the  native  faith  or  superstition  the  par- 
ocular  phase  of  it  exhibits. 

Mr,  Bosworth  Smith  gives  us  a  most  interesting  account  of 
^e  spread  of  Islam  in  Africa,  where  it  is  making  grand  strides. 
**e  is,  however,  a  little  too  favourable  in  his  estimate  of  the 
^nects  of  Islam  in  civilising  barbarous  races.  What  he  attributes 
^^clusively  to  the  religious  idea,  is  much  more  often  the  result 
^  the  patriarchal  social  idea  which  prevails  amongpst  Muslim 


.  *  Christian  travellers/  he  says, '  with  every  wish  to  think  otherwise, 
'^^Q  remarked  that  the  negro  who  accepts  Mohammedanism  acquires 
^  once  a  sense  of  the  dignity  of  human  nature  not  commonly  found 
®^eti  amongst  those  who  have  been  brought  to  accept  Christianity.' 
"^p.  38. 

A.  great  deal  of  the  success  of  Mohammedanism  is,  no  doubt, 
^*^e  to  the  social  equality  which  it  both  preaches  and  practises — 
^he  exclusively  Arabic  element  which  the  system  contains. 

^^  In  India,  for  instance,  Mohammedans  make  converts  by  hundreds 
^^^m  among  the  Hindus,  while  Christians  with  difficulty  make  ten ; 
^^^  this  partly,  at  least,  because  they  receive  their  converts  on  terms 
^  Qmtire  social  equality,  while  Europeans,  in  spite  of  all  the  efforts  of 

missionariea 


234  Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism, 

missionaries  to  the  contrary,  seem  either  unwilling  or  tinable  to  treat 
these  conyerts  as  other  than  inferiors.  .  .  .  The  *' negro"  convert  to 
Islam  is  received  at  once  as  an  equal  by  the  Arab,  or  the  Moorish,  or 
the  Mandingo  missionary,  who  has  brought  him  his  message ;  he  is 
enrolled  in  a  fraternity  which  has  influenced  half  the  world  and  in 
which  negroes  themselyes  haye  played  no  inconsiderable  part  .  .  • 
The  Christian  negro,  on  the  other  hand,  with  few  exceptions,  still  feeb 
at  an  immeasurable  distance  from  thoso  Europeans  to  whom  indeed  be 
owes  the  message  of  loye ;  but  who,  as  a  race,  for  centuries  past  hftve 
enslayed  and  sold  him.'— Pp.  246-248. 

Mohammedanism  is  antagonistic  to  many  of  the  vices  to 
which  the  negro  is  most  prone.  Drinking,  for  instance,  brings 
out  the  very  worst  qualities  of  the  savage  nature,  and  the  sup- 
pression of  this  vice  is,  no  doubt,  one  of  the  chief  benefits 
conferred  by  Islam  upon  Africa.     As,  Mr.  Smith  says : — 

*  when  we  reflect  upon  the  havoc  wrought  by  the  ''  desolating  flood  of 
ardent  spirits"  poured  into  Africa  by  European  merchants,  whst 
Christian  should  not  rejoice  that  what  a  native  African  well  calls  t 
''  Total  Abstinenoe  Association,"  extends  now,  owing  to  the  spread  of 
Islam,  right  across  Central  AfHca  from  the  Nile  to  Siena  Leone  f 
—p.  63. 

But  if  Africa  owes  this  boon  to  Mohammedanism,  she  owes, 
as  the  author  fairly  states,  a  much  greater  debt  of  gratitude  to 
Christianity,  and  to  England  in  particular,  for  the  suppression 
of  the  slave-trade. 

While  agreeing  with  Mr.  Smith  that  Mohammedanism  hs* 
done  great  things  for  Africa,  and  raised  many  a  tribe  from  the 
dcptlis  of  ignorance  and  pagan  superstition,  with  all  their 
attendant  brutalities  and  vice,  yet  we  cannot  altogether  accept 
his  more  than  implied  conclusion  that  it  is  to  the  pure  and 
noble  principles  of  Islam  alone  to  which  such  changes  fortte 
better  are  due.  The  negro  possesses  many  sound,  good  quali- 
ties, amongst  which  good  nature,  and  the  faculty  for  forming 
strong  and  loyal  attachments,  are  conspicuous ;  but  he  is  also 
passionate,  cruel,  and  prone  to  sensual  indulgence,  especially,  s* 
we  have  said,  to  the  vice  of  drinking.  A  religion,  therefore, 
which  at  least  moderates  his  passions,  instils  into  his  mind  an 
unqualified  horror  for  all  the  rites  and  sanguinary  obsen'ances  of 
paganism,  and  which  keeps  him  from  the  use  of  intoxicating 
liquors,  must  of  necessity  raise  him  morally,  physically,  and 
intellectually.  But  it  is  scarcely  logical  to  deduce  thence  that 
the  system  which  has  worked  so  well  with  him  is  in  itself  ^ 
unmixed  good,  and  capable  of  universal  application. 

If  Mohammedanism  has  raised  the  degraded  races  of  Afnca 
to  a  higher  position  in  the  scale  of  humanity,  and  introduced 

learniogf 


Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism.  235 

arning,  agriculture,  and  good  government  into  places  where  they 
ere  hitherto  unknown,  let  us  give  it  all  due  credit ;  but  to  be 
irwe  must  not  blind  ourselves  to  the  evils  which  have  followed 
I  its  wake  elsewhere.  Look,  for  instance,  at  Turkey,  Asia 
[inor,  Syria,  and  Persia.  How  many  thousands  of  miles  of 
luntry,  once  under  cultivation  and  teeming  with  population, 
t  now  unproductive  desert  and  unpeopled  ?  How  many  ruined 
wns  and  perished  vineyards  do  we  not  find  scattered  over  the 
ih,  Moab,  the  Hauran,  &c.,  where  Christian  industry  had  once 
•nverted  an  arid  desert  into  a  blooming  garden  ?  The  fact  is 
at  Mohammedanism,  when  it  is  brought  for  the  first  time  into 
ntact  with  a  rude,  uncivilised,  and  pagan  people,  exhibits 
teif  in  its  best  aspect,  for  it  is  in  precisely  the  same  circum- 
inces  as  those  in  which  it  achieved  its  first  and  decided  sue- 
S8.  When,  however,  it  is  forced  upon  or  brought  into  contact 
Lth  a  people  of  advanced  civilisation,  or  even  when  the  civilisa- 
m  that  it  has  initiated  has  reached  a  certain  point,  then  the 
iFowness,  the  intolerance,  the  cruelty,  and  the  sensuality  of  the 
sed  lead  to  a  speedy  decadence  of  morality  and  national  pro- 
erity.  Nor  is  it  fair  to  compare  the  present  condition  of  the 
iristian  communities  in  the  East  with  their  Muslim  neigb- 
nrs,  and  argue  thence  that  Christianity  is  less  suitable  for 
i«tem  countries  than  Islam.  We  must  not  forget  that  in  nearly 
Eastern  countries  the  Muslims  are  the  feudal  lords  and  the 
iristians  the  vassals,  and  grievously  oppressed  vassals  they 
lally  are ;  and  a  state  of  serfdom  is  scarcely  the  best  adapted 
'  bringing  out  the  finer  qualities  of  human  nature.  Ancient 
Bece  surpassed  all  other  nations  in  the  liberal  arts  and  sciences 
its  laws  and  its  philosophy  are  models  for  our  own  time ;  but 
nras  owing  to  the  unqualified  freedom  of  the  Greek  peoples 
it  they  attained  such  a  position,  certainly  not  to  the  religion 
ich  they  professed,  much  as  their  paganism  has  been  misun- 
Ytood. 

Mr.  Smith  points  out  one  fact  which  is  of  the  utmost  and 
ivest  importance  to  ourselves.  Islam  is  making  marvellous 
^ss  in  India.  This  being  the  case,  it  is  obvious  that  our 
*  duty  as  rulers  of  the  country  is  to  understand  the  system 
ich  forms  the  mainspring  of  action  to  so  large  a  portion  of  the 
)alation,  and  which  regulates  their  attitude  to  us.  And  yet, 
the  author  of  the  Lectures  says : — 

There  is  probably  nowhero  a  more  profound  ignorance  of  Islam 
its  fomider,  and  a  greater  indifference  to  what  it  is  doing  in  the 

'Id,  than  in  England.  Popular  preachers  and  teachers  still  call 
Prophet  of  Arabia  an  impostor ;  and  military  officers  and  even 

1  servaats  of  the  Crown,  have  gone  out  to  India,  passed  years 

there. 

•a  • 


236  Mohammed  and  Mo/iammedanism. 

there,  and  retnmed  again,  still  fancying  that  Masalmans  are  idolatea.' 
—p.  60. 

This  statement,  which  wc  fear  is  too  true,  is  an  additional 
reason  for  insisting  on  the  necessity  of  some  such  popular  and 
liberal  inquiry  into  the  subject  as  the  book  before  us  has  in- 
augurated. 

The  author  draws  a  very  graphic  picture  of  what  might  bave 
been  possibly  the  future  of  the  world  had  Islam  been  Strang^ 
in  its  cradle,  and  dwells  especially  upon  the  loss  which  Europe 
would  have  sustained : — 

*  The  dark  ages  of  Europe  would  have  been  doubly,  nay,  treUy  ^t 
for  the  Arabs  who  alone  by  their  arts  and  scienceB,  by  their  agried^ 
ture,  their  philosophy,  and  their  virtues,  shone  out  amidst  flii 
universal  gloom  of  ignorance  and  crime,  who  gave  to  Spain  and  ia 
Europe  an  Averroes  and  an  Avicenna,  the  Alhambra  and  the  AloaaUt 
would  have  been  wandering  over  their  native  deserts.' — p.  1S6. 

To  this  conclusion  we  must  somewhat  demur ;  for  althoogk 
the  arts,  sciences,  and  literature  of  which  he  speaks  flouiiihel 
under  Muslim  rule  during  the  dark  ages,  we  must  not  forget,  ai 
so  many  historians  seem  to  do,  that  none  of  these  blessings  owe 
more  to  the  Arabs  than  the  permission  to  exist.  It  is  solely  0 
Persian  and  Greek  influence  that  they  survived  ;  the  simple  h* 
barbarous  Khalifs  during  the  first  years  of  the  empire  left  d0 
whole  of  the  administration  of  the  provinces  in  native  hands  to 
such  an  extent  that  for  some  time  Greek  was  the  language  m 
which  the  official  acts  of  the  Arab  rulers  were  recorded.  Pcisini 
artists  designed  and  decorated  their  mosques  and  palaces ;  die 
gardens  of  Shiraz,  and  not  the  rude  rocks  of  the  desert,  snggestn 
the  beautiful '  forms  of  tracery  that  we  are  accostomed  to  call 
Arabesque ;  the  science  and  philosophy  were  all  either  Indian  or 
Greek.  In  fact,  it  was  Aryan  civilisation,  that  would  not  te 
crushed  out  by  rude  invasion  ;  it  was  history  repeating  itselil  aa* 

'  Grfecia  capta  ferum  victorem  cepit  et  artes 
Intulit  agresti  Latio.' 

Under  any  other  rule  this  civilisation  must  have  lived ;  aad 
although  we  cannot  deny  the  Arab  Muslims  the  credit  of  P^ 
tecting  and  fostering  it,  we  cannot  allow  them  even  the  impl>^ 
credit  of  inventing  it.  As  for  the  influence  of  Islam  on  snca 
tribes  as  the  Monguls,  Tartars,  and  Turks,  the  first,  it  is  true» 
gave  enlightened  sovereigns  to  Hindustan,  and  displayed  manj 
Muslim  virtues ;  the  last  two,  the  Tartar  and  the  Turks,  are,  wc 
venture  to  think,  very  unfortunate  examples  of  the  civilising 
powers  of  Islam.     And,  lastly,  putting  aside  the  question  whidi 

Mr. 


Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism.  237 

Mr.  Smith  rather  appears  to  ignore,  whether  Eastern  Christianity 
would  not  have  assumed  a  purer  form,  and  by  going  back  to  the 
original  doctrines  of  its  Divine  Founder,  have  accomplished 
even  more  for  savage  nature  than  Islam  has  done,  it  is  by  no 
\meaiis  certain  that  the  mild  doctrines  of  Buddha,  or  the  deism 
of  Zoroaster,  would  not  have  exercised  an  equally  beneficial 
iofloence  over  the  human  race  as  the  sublime  though  unlovable 
doctrine  of  Mohammed. 

Bat,  the  reader  may  well  ask,  to  what  conclusion  does  all  this 

kid?    We  would  reply,  that  it  should  teach  us  to  regard  Mo- 

kimmedanism  politically  and  religiously  in  a  different  light  from 

that  in  which  we  have  been  accustomed  to  view  it ;  to  recognise 

it  as  a  religion  cognate,  if  inferior,  to  our  own ;  but  inferior 

though  it  be,  capable  of  being  admirably  adapted  to  the  require- 

Jnents  of  Eastern  peoples.      In  this   sense  it  may  be  made  a 

Talnable  instrument  for  good,  and  may  be  employed  in  the  inter- 

feiti  of  progress  and  civilisation.     If  we  cannot  replace  Islam  by 

Christianity,  let  us  accept  the  position  and  endeavour  to  develop 

Christian  virtues  out  of  the  Mohammedan  creed.     Above  all, 

we  must  recognise  the  fact  that  it  is  civilisation  hand  in  hand 

with  Christianity  that  benefits  the  world,  and  that  Christian 

dogmas,  without  Christian  virtues  and  Christian  civilisation,  can 

do  bat  little  for  mankind.     Let  us  preach  Christ,  by  all  means, 

liDt  do  not  let  us  deny  the  traces  of  Him  which  we  find  else- 

vhere ;  and  let  us  not  withhold  the  blessings  that  we  have  derived 

from  our  fuller  knowledge  of  Him  from  others,  because  they 

haTe  a  lesser  share. 

As  a  mere  apology  for  the  life  and  doctrines  of  Mohammed, 
Mr.  Bosworth  Smithes  book  would  be  a  valuable  addition  to 
Siodem  literature ;  but  it  is  much  more,  and  has  a  much  higher 
scope  and  tendency.  It  is  a  bold,  earnest  appeal  to  Christian 
nations  to  act  up  to  the  spirit  of  their  faith — to  judge  not,  lest 
^y  be  judged  again — to  pluck  the  beam  of  intolerance  and 
spiritual  pride  out  of  their  own  eyes  before  they  seek  to  extract 
the  mote  of  misbelief  out  of  their  brother's  eye.  In  short,  it 
points  out  a  line  of  conduct  which,  if  pursued,  will  not  only 
hridge  over  chasms  of  misunderstanding  between  East  and  West, 
wit  will  hasten  the  realisation  of  the  glorious  promise  proclaimed 
worn  Heaven  itself,  at  the  advent  of  our  Lord,  of  *  Peace  on 
^ttth  and  good-will  towards  men.' 


Art. 


(    238    ) 


Art.  VIII. — 1.  Promenade  autour  du  Monde^  1871.  Par  M 
Baron  de  Hiibner,  Ancien  Ambassacleur,  Ancien  Mini 
Auteur  de  '  Sixte  Quint.'  Cinquieme  edition,  illus 
de  316  gravurcs,  dessinees  sur  bois  par  nos  plus  cele 
artistes.     Paris,  1877.* 

2.  A  Ramble  Round  the  Worlds  Sfc,  Translated  by  Lady  Her 
of  Lea.     London.     In  Two  Volumes,  1874. 

BOSWELL  relates  that  in  giving  Johnson  an  account  oi 
interview  with  Captain  Cook,  he  said  that  whilst  he 
with  the  Captain  he  caught  the  enthusiasm  of  curiosity 
adventure,  and  felt  a  strong  inclination  to  go  with  him  on 
next  voyage. 

'  Johnson :  Why,  Sir,  a  man  does  feel  so  till  he  considers  how  ^ 
little  he  can  learn  from  such  voyages. 

'  BoBwell :  But  one  is  carried  away  with  the  general,  grand, 
indistinct  notion  of  a  Voyage  round  the  World. 

'  Johnson :  Yes,  Sir,  but  a  man  is  to  guard  himself  against  takix 
thing  in  general.t' 

Johnson  systematically  undervalued  the  sciences  or  branc 
of  knowledge  which  were  simply  conversant  with  mere  mat 
of  observation  or  statistics ;  and  as  the  conversation  proceec 
it  became  evident  that  when  he  spoke  of  the  '  little  that  co 
be  learned  from  such  voyages,'  he  was  thinking  of  how  little  t 
had  added  to  the  common  stock  of  intellectual  wealth;  I 
little  they  had  done  to  enlarge  or  correct  our  notions  of  gov* 
ment,  religion,  or  society.  The  early  circumnavigators  ii 
certainly  open  to  this  reproach,  if  it  be  one.  Magellan,  Dn 
Cavendish,  Dampier,  were  by  no  means  given  to  speculation 
philosophy ;  and  the  later  adventurers,  even  those  who  stai 
avowedly  for  scientific  objects,  rarely  ventured  in  their 
searches  or  reflections  beyond  the  strict  domain  of  navigati 
natural  history,  and  geography.  Nor  are  we  prepared  to 
that  constitutional  lore  or  the  study  of  morals  would  have  b 

*  Several  of  tlie  illustrations  of  thu  edition,  a  splendid  volume,  are  i 
Bketches  by  the  author.  The  preceding  editions  are  in  two  volumes,  octara 
sixth,  in  duodecimo,  is  in  preparation. 

t  *  Botwell's  Johnson,'  Murray's  one-volume  edition,'  by  Croker,  p.  496.  < 
subsequent  occasion,  speaking  of  *  Cook's  Voyages,'  Johnson  broke  out:  *^ 
will  rend  them  through  ?  A  man  hud  better  work  his  way  before  tiie  i 
than  read  them  tlirough  :  they  will  be  eaten  by  rats  and  mice  before  tliey  are 
through.'  Goethe  would  have  taken  part  with  I^swell :  *  Lord  ^Vnson's  •*  Vo; 
round  the  "World"  combined  tlie  worth  of  truth  with  Uie  fancy-realms  of  the: 
tule;  and  whilst  we  accompanied  this  excellent  seaman  in  thought,  we  ' 
carried  fur  in  all  the  world,  and  sought  to  follow  him  with  our  angers  oi 
globe.' — *  Dichtung  und  Wahrhcit.* 

m 


A  Ramble  round  the  World.  231> 

mach  the  gainers  if  Sir  Joseph  Banks  and  Dr.  Solander,  who 
accompanied  Captain  Cook,  instead  of  confining  themselves  to 
their  peculiar  walks,  had  attempted  to  rival  Montesquieu  in 
basing  systems  of  legislation  or  theories  of  human  nature  on 
the  manners  and  customs  of  Bantam,  Otaheite,  or  Japan.  But 
DOW  that  the  attainable  surface  of  the  globe  has  been  repeatedly 
sarreyed,  leaving  little  to  desire  in  the  way  of  what  may  be 
called  our  objective  knowledge  of  it,  the  time  has  come  for 
looking  beyond  the  surface  and  trying  to  solve  some  of  the 
problems  in  social  science  suggested  by  the  anomalous  customs,, 
manners  and  institutions,  which  travellers  have  hitherto  de- 
Kribed  or  commemorated  with  a  note  of  wonder  or  an  expres- 
sion of  surprise. 

Baron  de  Hiibner  was  the  first  to  see  and  seize  the  oppor- 
tunity thus  presented  of  striking  into  a  new  line.  There  was 
no  novelty  in  a  voyage  round  the  world,  but  there  was  some- 
thing closely  bordering  on  originality  in  an  expedition  on  so- 
extended  a  scale  to  study  the  workings  of  the  strangely  con- 
trasted forms  of  civilisation  or  semi-civilisation  in  the  countries- 
which  lay  most  directly  across  his  track. 

'  To  behold,  beyond  the  Bocky  Mountains,  in  the  virgin  forests  of 
&  Sierra  Nevada,  civilization  in  its  struggle  with  savage  nature ;  to 
behold,  in  the  Empire  of  the  Eising  Sun,  the  efforts  of  certain  re- 
markable men  to  launch  their  coimtry  abruptly  in  the  path  of  progress  *,. 
to  behold,  in  the  Celestial  Empire,  the  silent,  constant,  and  generally 
PMTe — but  always  obstinate — resistance  which  the  spirit  of  the 
CSunese  opposes  to  the  moral,  political,  and  commercial  invasions  of 
I^pe: — these  are  the  objects  of  the  journey,  or  rather  of  the 
nmble,  which  I  purpose  making  round  the  globe.' 

It  would  be  more  correct  to  say  that  these  arc  the  principal 
objects,  for  nearly  a  third  of  the  work  is  devoted  to  the  United 
States,  and  there  is  scarcely  a  topic  bearing  on  the  future  of  the 
Great  Republic  which  he  has  not  instructively,  if  not  exhaustively^ 
discussed.  He  is  largely  gifted  with  sensibility,  imagination^ 
*  cultivated  taste  for  art,  a  keen  perception  of  the  beautiful 
*<Jd  sublime  in  nature :  his  descriptions  of  scenery,  with  the 
^••ociated  emotions,  are  instinct  with  the  vitality  of  truth ;  he 
^  as  ready  with  the  pencil  as  with  the  pen  :  but  it  is  all  along 
obrious  that  the  outward  aspect  of  things  has  only  a  secondary 
•^traction  for  him,  unless  when  they  supply  materials  for 
bought.  His  own  estimate  of  his  vocation,  of  the  true  vocation 
of  a  traveller,  is  to— 

'  Expatiate  free  o*er  all  this  scene  of  Man, 
A  mighty  maze !  but  not  without  a  plan ; ' 

and. 


240  A  Ramble  round  the  World, 

and,  plunging  fearlessly  into  the  maze,  he  puts  forth  feelers  ii 
all  directions  to  discover  the  plan.  If  his  mode  of  proceediii| 
is  exceptional,  so  also  are  his  qualifications,  and  when  h 
speaks  with  confidence  or  authority,  let  it  not  be  forgotten  tha 
it  is  as  a  trained  politician,  a  practical  and  practised  statesman 
that  he  speaks. 

Baron  de  Hiibner,  bom  at  Vienna  in  1811,  was  placed,  afte 
receiving  the  regular  University  education,  in  the  State 
Chancery,  in  the  department  of  Prince  Mettemich,  at  whcM 
feet  he  may  be  regarded  as  brought  up.  We  find  him  in  1831 
an  attache  of  the  Austrian  Embassy  in  Paris  ;  in  1841,  Secrfr 
tary  of  Embassy  in  Lisbon ;  in  1841,  Consul-General  h 
Saxony  at  Leipzig ;  in  1848  he  was  placed  in  a  highly  oonfr 
dential  and  responsible  position  with  the  Archduke  Rainier 
Regent  of  Lombardy,  and  was  taken  prisoner  during  the  insor 
rection  movements  of  that  year.  After  a  brief  interval  he  wai 
chosen  by  Prince  Schwarzenburg  to  accompany  the  EmpertN 
and  Imperial  family  from  Schonbrunn  to  Olmiitz.  On  tbi 
formation  of  the  Schwarzenberg-Stadion  Ministry  he  wai 
charged  with  the  diplomatic  correspondence  of  the  Fordgi 
Office.  In  March,  1849,  he  was  sent  on  a  special  mission  t< 
Paris,  where  some  months  later  he  was  accredited  Minista 
Plenipotentiary  to  the  President.  He  represented  Austria  as 
Minister  or  Ambassador  in  France  till  the  war  of  1859,  and  i 
was  to  him  that  Louis  Napoleon  addressed  the  menacing  wordi 
which  g^ve  warning  of  the  coming  storm. 

He  next  went  on  a  special  mission  to  Naples,  and  afiei 
representing  Austria  at  Rome  for  a  few  months,  he  returned  hon^ 
to  become  Minister  of  Police  under  a  Government  with  whid 
he  speedily  disagreed.  In  1865  he  was  named  again  Austriai 
Ambassador  at  Rome,  which  appointment  he  held  till  1869 
In  the  course  of  the  following  year  he  published  his  '  SixM 
Quint,'  which  has  been  faithfully  rendered  into  English  bj 
Mr.  Hubert  Jerningham,  the  accomplished  author  of  ^  Life  in  i 
French  Chateau,'  &c.  Indeed,  Baron  de  Hiibner  has  bea 
most  fortunate  in  his  translators,  especially  as  regards  the  boni 
before  us.  Of  the  many  highly  cultivated  persons  who  haT< 
adopted  or  occasionally  pursued  the  unassuming  vocation  o 
interpreter  between  France  and  England,  no  one  has  sbowi 
greater  command  of  clear,  idiomatic,  flowing  and  appropriat 
language  than  Lady  Herbert  of  Lea,  or  done  more  to  pro? 
the  superiority  of  English  to  French  in  compass,  richness  an 
variety.  It  is  hardly  too  much  to  say  that  she  has  done  f( 
Baron  de  Hubner's  work  what  Coleridge  confessedly  did  f( 
Schiller's  ^  Wallenstein :'  that,  whilst  venturing  like  him  in  i 

occasion 


A  Ramble  round  the  World.  241 

lal  departure  from  the  text,  she  has  not  only  reproduced  the 
id  animation  of  his  style,  but,  in  passages  (thanks  to 
^ment  with  which  she  works)  has  actually  improved 
e  eloquent  original.* 

this  preparation,  the  reader  will  be  agreeably  surprised 
.  that  his  attention  will  not  be  rigidly  confined  to  grave 
•  * 

ay  road,  I  mean  to  amuse  myself;  that  is,  to  see  all  I  can 
I  curious  and,  to  me,  new :  and  every  evening  I  shall  note 

my  journal  what  I  have  seen,  and  what  has  been  told  me 
lie  day. 

being  clearly  understood,  let  us  close  our  trunks  and  start* 

start  is  made  from  Queenstown,  May  14th,  1871,  in  the 
ip  '  China,'  a  Cunard  steamer.  In  the  brief  course  of 
e  up  the  Thames,  M.  Taine  hits  upon  several  typical 
1  women  among  the  passengers.  Baron  de  Hiibner  is 
fortunate  before  he  has  been  many  hours  at  sea.     His 

ur  at  dinner   is  General  K ^  of  the  United  States 

vho  has  seen  service  in  the  virgin  forests  of  California, 
»,  and  of  Arizona,  '  hunting  with  the  red-skins,  or  being 
by  them,  according  to  the  various  circumstances  and 
policy  of  his  government.'  To  change  the  subject  or 
ivith  one  bound  from  the  deserts  of  America,'  he  has 
begin  to  talk  with  the  young  man  in  front  with  his  dis- 
ced air,  careful  toilet,  and  high-bred  manners. 

i  one  of  the  merchant  princes  of  the  great  English  factory  of 
1.  With  wonderful  clearness  he  puts  before  me  a  perfect 
)f  the  commercial  position  in  China,  especially  as  regards 
interests.  His  way  of  judging  of  and  estimating  things  is 
Qore  than  one  European  resident  in  the  East  The  Chinese 
is  to  be  forced  to  accept  the  blessings  of  civilization  at  the 
mouth :  they  must  kill  a  good  many  Chinamen,  especially 
darins  and  men  of  letters,  and  then  exact  a  large  war  in- 

3presentatives  of  the  United  States  are  few,  and  despatched 
rt  paragraph : 

e  are  also  half  a  dozen  young  Yankees  on  board.  They  are 
lusiness,  and  all  of  the  same  stamp :  tall,  straight,  narrow- 
ed, flat-chested,  with  sharp,  anxious,  inquiring  yet  intelligent 
1  lips  and  sarcastic  expressions.  They  seem  to  scent  money 
ision  or  in  the  future,  to  be  obtained  no  matter  at  what  cost 
¥hat  cfifort.' 

)iily  objection  is  to  the  title.  As  '  Promenade '  is  now  a  natoralised 
ord,  we  see  no  reason  for  changing  it  into  *  Ramble  ;*  which  reminds  us 
rst  Italian  translation  of  *  The  Bambler  *  was  entitled  '  II  Yagabondo.' 

l43._JVb.  285.  R  The 


242  A  Ramble  round  the  World. 

Tiie  after-deck  is  swarming  with  emigrants — men,  women^ 
and  ciiildren,  mostly  Irish.     Conspicuous  amongst  these  wi 
an  Englishman,  who  was  leaving  his  native  country  for  ever, 
with  the  full  sense  of  the  sacrifice  and  the  full  conviction  of  il 
necessity. 

'  An  old  man  of  eighty,  the  very  type  of  a  patriarch,  leaning  on 
arm  of  a  fine  young  fellow  of  one-and-twcnty,  has  just  czoised 
deck.  His  manners  are  respectful  and  yet  with  a  certain  amount  oSi 
dignity.  He  is  an  English  peasant;  a  Somersetshire  man.  '^Sir,'^* 
he  says  to  me,  '^  it's  late  in  the  day  for  me  to  emigrate,  but  I  leara^ 
nothing  but  misery  in  England,  and  hope  to  find  at  least  bread  to  eiu^fl 
in  the  New  Country.  Here  are  my  two  grandsons,"  showing  me  iwi^c 
lads  by  his  side  with  a  touching  expression  of  tenderness  and  hone^^ 
pride :  "  their  father  and  my  granddaughter  have  stayed  behind  i^C3 
our  old  village,  and  I  shall  never  see  them  again."  He  gave  a  ahoc"  % 
cough  ;  I  looked  another  way,  and  he  took  advantage  of  it  to  bruiKa 
liis  arm  across  his  moistened  eyes.' 

Till  past  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  a  Londoner,  befosrw 
setting  out  for  Edinburgh,  was  wont  to  make  his  will  and  tal^c 
a  solemn  leave  of  his  family.     But  we  were  under  an  imprei^B- 
sion  that,  as  things  stand  at  present,  he  might  engage  a  passa^« 
to  New  York  at  any  period  of  the  year  without  taking  moane 
care  for  the  morrow   than  if  he  were  starting  for   Exeter 
Carlisle.     This,  we  find,  is  altogether  a  mistake.     There 
times  and  seasons  when  the  chances  against  his  safe  arrival 
of  a  nature  to  shake  the  nerves  of  the  most  intrepid  traveller  if 
he  were  made  acquainted  with  them,  which,  much  to  his  dis- 
quiet, Baron  de  Hiibner  was.    On  May  20th,  they  sight  a  beau- 
tiful aurora  horealis  and  a  huge  iceberg,  brilliantly  white,  rolling 
heavily  in  the  swell,  while  the  waves  beat  furiously  against  its 
sides : 

'  A  sort  of  dull  rumbling  sound  like  low  thunder  is  heard  in  spite 
of  all  the  noise  of  the  engines.  The  cold,  pale  sun  of  the  Axetie 
regions  throws  a  sinister  light  over  the  scene.  It  is  all  very  fine  9^ 
^'ciy  grand,  but  not  reassuring.  We  are  in  the  midst  of  the  Banks  d 
Newfoundland.  This  evening  we  shall  double  Cape  Baee.  Bj  t 
lucky  chance,  the  weather  is  quite  clear.  But  if  we  had  come  in  for 
a  fog,  which  is  the  rule  at  this  season,  and  had  then  struck  aguo>t 
this  floating  mass  of  ice  which  took  so  little  trouble  to  get  out  of  our 
way,  what  then  ?  '*  Ob,"  answers  the  captain,  "  in  two  minutes  ^ 
should  have  gone  down " — and  that  is  the  unpleasant  side  of  ih^ 
voyages.' 

The  seventh  and  eighth  days  from  the  departure  are  the  moit 
critical ;  and  hardly  had  the  voyage  begun,  when  the  sailoif 
began  to  discuss  them,  much  as  doctors  talk  of  the  critical  da;^ 

in 


A  Ramble  round  tlie  World.  243 

in  an  Intermittent  fever.  *  Until  then,  it's  all  plain  sailing ;  after- 
wards, there's  nothing  to  fear  from  the  floating  ice,  but  those 
two  days!' 

During  a  voyage  of  the  preceding  year,  in  July,  1869,' the 
Baron's  impression  of  the  constantly  recurring  risk  was  con- 
firmed as  strongly  by  personal  experience  as  it  well  could  be, 
if  he  was  to  live  to  tell  the  tale.  An  impenetrable  fog  shrouded 
the  Banks  of  Newfoundland.  In  the  middle  of  the  day  it  was 
almost  as  dark  as  night.  Every  moment,  as  the  air  seemed  to 
thicken,  the  thermometer  pointed  to  a  sudden  increase  of  cold 
in  the  temperature  of  the  sea.  Evidently  there  were  icebergs 
ahead. 

*'  Bvt  where?  That  was  the  question.  What  surprised  me  was, 
that  ibe  speed  was  not  slackened.  But  they  told  me  that  the  ship 
would  obey  the  helm  only  in  proportion  to  her  speed.  To  avoid  the 
iceberg,  it  is  not  enough  to  see  it,  but  to  see  it  in  time  to  tack  about, 
which  supposes  a  oertain  docility  in  the  ship,  depending  on  her  speed. 
Thus,  SB  in  many  other  circumstances  of  life,  by  braving  a  danger, 
yon  nm  the  best  chance  of  safety. 

*"  I  tried  to  reach  the  prow,  which  was  not  easy.  We  were  shipping 
^  good  deal  of  sea,  and  the  speed  at  which  we  were  going  added  to 
^e  force  of  the. wind,  which  was  dead  against  us;  we  were  making 
fifteen  knots  an  hour.  I  tried  to  crawl  along,  struggling  with  the 
^^lements,  nearly  blown  down  by  the  wind  and  lashed  by  the  spray. 
^^iie  of  the  officers  gave  me  a  helping  hand.  "  Look,*'  he  cxclauned, 
^  ^  that  yellow  curtain  before  us.  If  there's  an  iceberg  behind,  and 
^^^)fle  lynx-eyed  fellows  find  it  out  at  half  a  mile  ofif — that  is,  two 
^^ntes  before  we  should  run  against  it — we  shall  just  have  time  to 
^k,  and  then  aU  wiU  he  right"    I  wished  him  joy  of  the  position ! ' 

.  Xhe  icebergs  are  not  the  only  danger  in  a  fog.  The  ^  China ' 
^'  on  the  high-road  to  New  York,  and  as  every  one  follows  the 
*^^e  course,  the  ocean,  so  vast  in  theory,  is  practically  reduced 
^  a  long  street  of  3000  miles,  not  half  wide  enough  for  the 

*  On  this  line  at  this  very  moment  there  are  five  huge  steamers, 
^^h  of  which  left  New  York  yesterday  in  the  day.  Fortunately  they 
^'o  still  at  some  distance  ofL    But  the  sailing  ships ! ' 

*  Isn't  there  a  luggage  train  due?'  asked  the  guard  of  an  Irish 
^il  train  of  the  station-master.  *  Well,  I'm  not  quite  sure,'  was 
r^^  reply.  •  Then  111  just  risk  it,'  rejoined  the  guard.  There 
J*  a  well-known  story  of  an  American  captain,  in  a  race  between 

^o  steamers  on  the  Mississippi,  coolly  seating  himself  on  the 
?*fety-valve  to  keep  up  the  pressure.  Somewhat  of  the  same 
^perturbability  may  have  been  observed  in  the  commander 
^^  the  ^  China,    although,  to  do  him  justice,  not  until  every 

R  2  possibk^ 


244  A  Ramble  round  tlie  World. 

possible  precaution  had  been  taken  to  avoid  a  collision.  The 
passengers  are  gathered  together  on  the  hatchway,  used  as  a 
smoking-room,  discussing  their  good  or  bad  chances.  The 
captain  looks  in  to  light  his  cheroot,  and  give  himself  the 
innocent  consolation  of  swearing  at  the  weather.  He  is  aptlv 
compared  to  a  man  running  through  a  dark  lobby,  withoul 
knowing  whether  there  are  steps  or  not,  and  with  a  certaint 
that  some  one  is  running  through  it  in  an  opposite  direction. 

'  I  nevor  in  my  life,  in  any  country,  saw  tho  air  so  thick 
evening,  and  yet  we  are  running  at  the  rate  of  thirteen  knots  and 
half.    These  are  terrible  moments  for  the  commanders  of  these 
K  tliere  be  a  collision,  the  proprietors  of  the  damaged  or  lost  boats 
to  law.    Should  the  result  of  the  lawsuit  be  mi&vourable  to 
Company,  heavy  indemnities  must  be  paid,  and  the  directors 
themselves  on  the  captain.    At  sea  ho  risks  bis  life,  on  land 
credit  and  his  fortune  are  at  stake.    What  a  hard  lot,  and  what 
horrible  nuisance  those  fogs  are  1    But  this  evening  Captain  Maoauk; 
reassures  his  passengers.    *'  We  are  the  stronge^"  he  says ;  ^ 
sailing-ship  could  make  head  against   the  '  China ; '  if  any 
founders  to-night,  it  won't  bo  ours." 

'  This  comfortable  assurance  restores  the  good  spirits  of  the  oonH' 
pany.     Everyone  goes  to  his  cabin  with  the  cool  consciousness  of 
strength  and  of  his  impunity,  and  equally  resolved  to  destroy  witKoo 
remorse  the  unhappy  vessels  which  may  cross  his  path.    It  is  witT 
these  laudable  sentiments  that  we  lay  our  heads  on  our  pillows 
find,  in  spite  of  the  continual  screams  of  the  alarm-whistfe,  the 
of  the  just.' 

Tiic  first  observation  of  the  traveller  after  his  arrival  at  N 
York  indicates  a  remarkable  change  in  manners  and  modes 
thinking  that  has  been  incidentally  produced  by  the  War 
Secession.      Formerly,  when    millionaires  were  comparativel 
rare,  they  shrank  from  making  an  ostentatious  display  of  thei 
wealth,    which    simply   offended    against  the  common    feelioj 
of  equality   without   conferring   any   compensating   advan 
in  the  shape  of  social  influence  or  respect.     Since  the 
so  fertile  of  contractors,   what  most   attracts  the  gaze  in  th< 
^  beautiful  Fifth  Avenue,'  at  the  fashionable  hour  of  evening  i 
the  excessive  luxury  of  the  innumerable  carriages,  with  theiz- 
immense  coats-of-arms  emblazoned  on  every  panel,  the 
smart  liveries,   the  almost  priceless  carriage-horses,  and  ^ 
somewhat  extravagant  dresses  of  the  ladies,  to  whom  Ni 
has  been  kinder  than  their  dressmakers.' 


'  One  tries  to  discover  the  moral  link  between  all  this 
display,  which  though  on  a  republican  soil,  is  not  afraid  to  show  i 
face,  and  that  thirst  for  equality  which  is  the  motive-power,  as  it 


A  Ramble  round  the  World.  245 

the  spur,  the  end,  the  reward,  and  also  the  punishment  of  a  demo« 
erratic  society  like  the  American.' 

Here,  the  Baron  is  in  his  element,  and  he  is  always  worth 

following  in  his  speculative  moods,  whether  he  lands  the  reader 

iim  an  ingenious  paradox  or  a  new  truth.    His  theory  is  that  this 

ix&Tidious  display  is  only  tolerated  by  the  working  class  or  what 

in  Europe  are  emphatically  termed  the  people,  because  each  is 

axiimated  by  the  hope,  which  is  far  from  being  a  chimera,  of 

joining  in  the  show — of  seeing  his  wife,  '  who  to-day  is  rinsing 

bottles  at  a  gin-palace,  indolently  stretched  on  the  morrow  in 

beT  own  luxurious  landau ;  or  of  driving  himself  in   his  gig 

Mrith  a  fast  trotter,  which  shall  have  cost  five  or  six  thousand 

dollars.'     This  ambition  is  frequently  satisfied ;   curious  and 

startling  is  the  rapidity  with  which  fortunes  are  made,  unmade, 

and  remade  in  the  New  World.     But  there  is  another  kind  of 

eaiiality  more  difficult  of  attainment.     *  Troth,  uncle,'  replies 

Nlike  Lamboume,  *  there  is  something  about  the  real  gentry 

that  few  men  come  up  to  that  are  not  born  and  bred  to  the 

najrstery.     I  wot  not  where  the  trick  lies ;  but  although  I  can 

®*iter  an  ordinary  with  as  much  audacity,  rebuke  the  waiters 

*od  drawers  as  loudly,  and  fling  my  gold  as  freely  about  as  any 

the  jingling  sparks  and  white  feathers  that  are  around  me, 

J^t,  hang  me,  if  I  can  ever  catch  the  true  grace  of  it,  though  I 

"*''^e  practised  a  hundred  times.     The  man  of  the  house  sets 

^®  lowest  at  the  board,  and  carves  to  me  the  last ;  and  the 

^'awer  says,  "  Coming,  friend,"  without  any  more  reverence  or 

''^ardful   addition.     But,  hang  it,  let  it  pass ;  care  killed  a 

<^t.'*     We  should   have  thought  that  the   American  parvenus 

'*''ould  be  as  indiflFerent  about  their  position  amongst  gentlemen 

^   lif  ike  Lamboume ;  surrounded  and  kept  in  countenance  as 

aey  mpe  \^y  numbers  in  the  same  predicament.     But,  according 

^  the  Baron,  they  are  constantly  struggling  '  secretly,  openly, 

^^n  brutally  now  and  then,'  for  admission  into  the  circles  for 

^Oict  they  are  hopelessly  unfit. 

The  result  is  this :  men  of  cultiyated  minds  and  of  refined  manners, 
^^  a  taste  for  historical  traditions  and,  in  consequence,  for  all  things 
^  B2uropean  interest,  withdraw  themselves  to  a  great  extent  from 
*^t^lic  life,  make  a  little  world  of  their  own,  and  escape,  as  far  as  they 
^?^^bly  can,  from  all  contact  with  that  real  life,  and  those  great 
^hetnes  which  draw  forth  the  riches  of  this  extraordinary  country, 
^^^  create  the  wonders  which  fill  us  with  surprise  and  admiration. 
^  is  allowable  to  exhibit  a  fearful  amount  of  luxury,  for  material 
'belles  are  accessible  to  all.     But  they  carefully  screen  from  the 

*  *  Kcnilworth,'  chap.  iiL 

vulgar 


246  A  Ramble  round  the  Wwrld. 

Yulgar  eyes  of  tbe  multitade,  who  feel  they  can  never  attain  to  sacb 
heights,  those  refinements  of  mind  and  manners  in  which  ooDBtst  tftxe 
real  enjoyments  of  life.     These  treasures  are  as  jealonsly  gnaided  ^»p 
the  Jews  in  the  Middle  Ages,  or  the  Orientals  in  oar  own  day,  oonoe^al 
their  riches  behind  squalid  walls  and  poor-looking  dwellings.' 


'^This  is  a  rather  exaggerated  view  of  a  social  phenomenon 
no  means  peculiar  to  New  York ;  where  a  few  families  of  \oam^  g: 
standing  and  hereditary  distinction  constitute  a  society  whic~*  ^ 
instinctively  repels  pretension  and  vulgarity.  This  is  in 
natural  order  of  things.  There  is  no  studied  concealment,  n< 
we  believe,  the  least  need  of  it.  The  multitude  are  not  proir"^<' 
to  envy  what  they  cannot  understand  :  they  no  more  envy  tt  laie 
denizens  of  this  Faubourg  St.  Germain  in  miniature  than  thf^y 
envy  the  scholar  his  lettered  leisure  and  his  books ;  and 
newly  enriched  adventurer  admitted  within  the  charmed  circ 
would  feel  like  the  hero  in  one  of  Paul  de  Kock's  novels,  mh* 
having  with  difficulty  gained  admission  to  a  salon  where 
knows  no  one,  exclaims,  ^  Mon  JDieu,  je  suis  id  comme 
obelisqueJ* 

There  is  no  capital  in  Europe  wholly  free  from  the 
description  of  fastidiousness,  and  ample  excuses  for  it  in  Nc 
York  may  be  found  in  the  mixed  character  of  the  popalati( 
and  the  superabundance  of  self-made  men.     But  the  Baioi 
observation  is  not  limited  to  New  York,  and  he  goes  on  to  sta' 
that  the  ^real  gentlemen  and  ladies'  of  the  United  States, 
way  of  standing  protest  against  the  supposed  equality,  ^foi 
among  themselves  in  the  great  towns  of  the  East,  especially 
Boston   and    Philadelphia,  a  more  exclusive  society  than 
most  inaccessible  coteries  of  the  courts  and  capitals  of  Europe.'' 

Boston  is,  or  was,  the  transatlantic  Athens.  Boston  socie  ^/ 
was  at  its  best  when  Ticknor  lived  in  and  wrote  about  it ;  aicn<l 
wc  collect  from  his  description  that,  if  necessarily  limited  "to 
persons  of  cultivation  and  refinement,  its  exclusivencss,  such  ^« 
it  was,  had  nothing  in  common  with  the  noble  Faubonig  *^ 
Paris  or  the  creme  de  la  crime  of  Vienna. 

It  was  finely  said  of  the  churches  of  London,  as  seen  ii^  ^ 
panoramic  view,  that  their  spires  and  steeples,  like  so  Bi»J^y 
electrical  conductors,  avert  the  wrath  of  heaven.  What  stn*-^* 
Baron  de  Hiibner  in  the  buildings  devoted  to  Divine  worship^  ** 
New  York  was  not  merely  their  enormous  number,  but  (Wi^° 
few  exceptions)  their  small  size. 

*  Seen  from  the  river  or  from  Jersey  City  at  the  moment  of  "^' 
embarkation,  this  huge  metropolis  unrolls  itself  before  yon  in  S^^ 
masses  of  red,  grey,  or  yellowish  brick.     One  or  two  steeples  a*  f*"^ 
outside  rise  above  the  roofs,  which  in  the  distance,  seem  all  of  *"^ 


A  Ramble  rmnd  the  World.  247 

flame  height,  and  to  form  one  vast  horizontal  line  stretching  towards 
the  phun  beyond.     Europeans  who  have  just  landed  for  the  Urst  time 

oannot  help  wondering  how  these  two  or  throe  churches  can  possibly 

suffice  for  upwards  of  a  million  of  Christians ! ' 

They  are  speedily  undeceived,  for  it  would  be  difficult  to 
zsame  a  community  in  which  the  spirit  of  religion,  the  genuine 
^firit,  is  more  rife ;  and  it  is  in  the  very  centre  of  luxury  and 
'^•anity,  the  Fifth  Avenue,  that  the  material  proofs  of  New 
"V^ork  piety,  alternating  with  worldly  and  debasing  influences, 
^Ixmnd: 

'  These  little  buildings,  each  consecrated  to  a  different  form  of 
'^irorBhip,  are  only  accessories  to  the  whole.  They  are  only  open 
^.Tiring  their  respective  services,  and  those  sendees  are  only  per- 
^<)rmed  on  Sundays.  But  there  they  are,  and  however  poor  they  may 
*K>«,  they  prove  the  existence  of  a  religion  in  the  hearts  of  these  rich 
X^^ople,  who  had  perhaps  little  or  no  time  to  think  of  their  souls  when 
"fcliey  were  making  their  fortunes,  but  who,  now  that  they  are  million- 
■^-^ —  begin  to  believe  that  there  is  a  future  state.' 


At  Washington,  where  he  passes  three  days,  the  all-absorbing 
"^opic  was  the  Alabama  Treaty ;  and  what  he  heard  confirms 
"^rhat  we  have  always  thought  and  said  concerning  it.  The 
leading  official  men  had  hardly  made  up  their  minds  whether 
it  could  be  accepted  as  a  definitive  settlement.  The  general 
]iublic  regarded  it  as  an  act  of  deference,  a  recognition  of 
superiority.  *  England  has  owned  herself  in  the  wrong,  and 
lias  capitulated:  neither  more  nor  less.'  But  yet  more  to  be 
iT'egretted  is  the  dissatisfaction  of  the  Canadians,  whose  interests 
"Vrere  thrown  aside  as  of  no  account. 

*  Even  before  my  departure  from  Europe,  an  eminent  English 
statesman  had  said  to  me :  '*  The  separation  from  Canada  is  only  a 
question  of  time.  This  treaty  will  hasten  it.  Before  four  or  live 
^ears  are  over  it  will  happen."  Everyone  knows  how,  in  England, 
jmblic  opinion  has  familiarised  itself  with  the  idea  of  the  loss  of  the 
colonies. 

There  was  a  time  when  the  current  of  public  opinion  was 
flowing  strongly  in  that  direction.  The  loss  of  our  North 
wVmerican  Colonies,  it  was  plausibly  urged,  had  not  diminished 
our  prosperity  ;  and  Sir  George  Cornewall  Lewis,  no  mean  autho- 
rity on  such  subjects,  went  the  full  length  of  maintaining  that 
c)ur  Indian  Empire  added  nothing  to  our  strength.  But  a  reaction 
lias  set  in ;  and,  declining  to  be  bound  by  the  doctrinaire  argu- 
ment, people  are  beginning  to  ask,  where  is  it  to  stop  ?  The 
constituent  parts  of  the  British  Empire  might  be  disposed  of 
like  Learns  knights.     '  What  need  you  five  and  twenty,  ten  or 


248  A  Ramble  round  the  World. 

five?  ....  What  need  one?'  What  need  of  India,  Canad^^ 
Australia,  the  West  India  Islands,  the  Channel  Islands,  or  ev^  3 
of  Ireland?  From  the  political  economy  point  of  view  an^  « 
assuming   the   universal   adoption   of  free-trade,  it   would  Iz^ 

difficult  to  prove  that  all  our  outlying  dependencies  are   pos 

tive  sources  of  wealth;  but  when  we  hear  it  contended 


the  power  and  resources  of  an  empire  are  not  dependent  upo^ 
its  extent,  we  are  reminded  of  Johnson's  reply  to  Dr.  Taylo— 
who  argued  that  a  small  bull-dog,  well-shaped  and  com 
was  as  good  as  a  large  one:  'No,  Sir,  for  in  proportion 
his  size  he  has  strength  ;  and  your  argument  would  prove  t 
a  good  bull-dog  may  be  as  small  as  a  mouse.' 

The  American  mania  for  titles  contrasts  amusingly  enoi 
with  the  popular  doctrine  of  equality  ;  and  the  Baron  turns  1 
peculiarity  to  good  account.  He  msikes  a  point  of  procnri 
introductions,  not  only  to  persons  of  consideration  in  the  towc^ 
he  proposes  to  visit,  but  to  the  station-masters  and  guards  ^z^i 
railroads,  the  captains  and  stewards  of  steamers,  the  maste^n 
and  mistresses  of  hotels. 

'  On  the  railroads  I  found  my  letters  of  introduction  invaluabL^ 
especially  when  travelling  alone.  The  station-master  begins  tfts-o 
acquaintance  by  shaking  my  hand,  calling  me  *'  Baron  "  half  a 
times,  and  introducing  me  to  the  guard  of  the  train.  Then  come0> 
fresh  exchange  of  civilities.  The  guard  gives  me  my  title,  and  I 
him  "  Mister"  That's  the  custom  in  the  Par  West— they  don't 
one  another  '^ Sir"  but  " Mister"  without  adding  the  name ;  finr 
one  has  the  time  to  inquire,  or  it  is  forgotten  as  soon  as  told.' 


To  insure  proper  attention  there  is  another  formality  to 
gone  through:  to  be  introduced  by  the  guard  to  the  man  <^^ 
colour,  the  waiter  of  the  cars.  Here  there  is  no  shaking  ^^' 
hands,  which  would  involve  too  close  a  contact  with  the  skin. 

'  In  spite  of  the  emancipation,  we  have  not  yet  arrived  at  thfr*^  ^ 
They  become  legislators,  certainly,  and  even  vice-presidents.  At  YftaMj' 
ingtoii,  the  seat  of  the  central  government,  they  are  allowed  to  loH 
insolently  enough  in  omnibuses  and  cars  and  public  places,  and  oiaJy 
to  yield  their  places  to  women.  But  to  shake  hands  with  theooj 
Fie  I  it  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  The  guard  as  a  friend,  the  colooroa 
man  as  a  servant,  become  invaluable  to  you  on  your  journey.' 

With  the  guard  the  Baron  found  it  convenient  to  establi*'* 
the  same  sort  of  familiarity  which  Prince  Hal  encouraged  in  th* 
drawer  who  clapped  the  pennyworth  of  sug^r  into  his  htad 
Not  liking  the  sleeping  arrangements  of  the  Pullman  car,  b^ 
takes  his  stand  upon  the  platform  at  the  risk  of  being  josdeo 
by  the  break  men. 


A  Ramble  round  the  World.  241) 

*  To  judge  by  their  Imrry  yon  would  think  it  was  a  qnestion  of  life 
or  deaUL  The  guard,  too,  passes  and  re-passes,  never  without  a 
gracious  smile  or  a  courteous  word  to  me,  as  ''Now,  Baron,"  or, 
^  Well,  Baron ;  you're  not  gone  to  bed."  Sometimes,  as  a  variety,  ho 
fi»y8  nothing,  but  merely  presses  my  hand.  Each  time  I  ask  him  : 
^  Well,  how  &st  are  we  going,  Mister  ?  "  And  his  answer  invariably 
is  :  *^  Sixty  miles  an  hour,  Baron." ' 

Referring  to  the  neglect  of  appearances  by  a  middle-aged 
Englishwoman  suffering  from  sea-sickness,  M .  Taine  remarks 
that  a  Frenchwoman,  even  middle-aged,  never  forgets  to  adjust 
herself,  to  arrange  her  dress.  Again,  on  the  same  occasion, 
describing  two  English  girls :  ^not  the  slightest  trace  of  coquetry, 
none  of  our  nice  little  tricks  which  have  been  learned  and  done 
on  purpose :  they  never  think  about  the  lookers-on.'  Neither, 
it  would  seem,  do  the  American  ladies  under  the  equally  dis- 
advantageous effects  of  a  night  journey. 

'  The  dawn  begins  to  break.     It  is  getting  cold.    I  make  up  my 

mind  to  go  bock  into  the  carriage.     The  coloured  waiters  are  already 

puttmg  away  the  mattresses.     In  the  rotonda,  a  species  of  ante-room 

gBnendly  attached  to  the  bed-carriages,  the  passengers  in  single  file 

AKO  waiting  their  turns  before  a  somewhat  miserable  washing-stand ; 

^xu>iher  is  reserved  for  the  ladies.    The  latter,  viiih  a  laudable 

^beenoe  of  coquetry,  which,  however,  I  should  not  recommend  to  any 

^osnan  who  cares  to  please,  appear  one  by  one  in  their  dressing- 

ffo^vrns,  carrying  their  chignons  in  their  hands,  and  find  the  means  of 

'i^^^ldDg  their  toilette  in  presence  of  the  company,  although  I  cannot 

the  result  was  generally  satisfactory.' 


-At  Chicago,  his  next  resting-place,  after  taking  possession  of  a 
^^l^arming  room  on  the  first  floor  of  the  great  hotel,  which,  thanks 
^  his  letter  of  introduction  and  his  title,  had  been  allotted  to 
^Un,  he  strolls  into  the  streets : 

*  It  was  the  hour  of  closing  the  &ops  and  factories.  Streams  of 
Workmen — men,  women,  and  children,  shop-boys,  commercial  men  of 
''U  kinds  passed  me  on  foot,  in  omnibuses,  m  tramways — all  going  in 
we  same  direction — that  is,  all  making  their  way  to  their  homes  in 
^Q  qoarters  outside  the  town ;  all  looked  sad,  preoccupied,  and  worn 
<^^it  with  fatigue. 

♦  ♦  •  ♦  * 

*  I  mix  with  the  crowd,  which  di*ags  me  on  with  it.  I  strive  to 
*^^^  in  the  faces  I  pass,  and  everywhere  meet  with  the  same  exprcs- 
*^oiu  Everyone  is  in  a  hurry,  if  it  were  only  to  get  a  few  minutes 
*^^oiier  to  his  home  and  thus  economise  his  few  hours  of  rest,  after 
having  taken  the  largest  possible  amount  of  work  out  of  the  long 
S^l^ors  of  labour.  Everyone  seems  to  dread  a  rival  in  his  neighbour. 
"^1^  crowd  is  a  very  type  of  isolation.  The  moral  atmosphere  is  not 
^*iirity,  but  rivaby.' 

The 


250  A  Ramhlc  round  the  World. 

The  Michigan  Avenue,  the  Mayfair  or  Cbaussee  d'Antin 
Chicago,  presents  a  wholly  different  aspect : 

'  There  is  an  air  of  rest  and  idleness  over  the  whole.  BaHes  pi 
iu  the  little  gardens,  ladies,  elegantly  dressed,  lie  on  the  Terand 
aud  rock  themselves  in  armchairs,  holding  in  one  hand  a  fan,  and 
the  other  a  novel.  All  of  a  sadden  a  new  ohject  strikes  me.  It  i 
house  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  What  a  strange  fancy  t  But  i 
this  house  moves,  walks,  comes  near  I  Very  soon  all  doubt  on  I 
subject  is  at  an  end.  Placed  on  trestles  resting  on  cylinders,  ( 
horse  and  three  men,  by  means  of  a  capstan,  do  the  work.  I  si 
from  sheer  surprise,  and  watch  this  singular  phenomenon  pass  1 
It  is  a  building  of  two  storeys.  A  veranda  in  full  flower  trcmb 
under  the  slight  shaking  of  the  cylinders.  The  chimney  smob 
they  are  evidently  cooking.  From  an  open  window  I  catch  I 
sounds  of  a  piano.  An  air  from  "La  Traviata*'  mingles  witht 
grinding  of  the  wheels  which  support  this  ambulatory  domicile.' 

When  the  moving  house  distracted  his  attention  he  was 
his  way  to  call  on  General  Sheridan : 

*'  I  had  crossed  the  ocean  with  him  on  my  return  to  Europe,  i 
last  year  I  had  met  him  at  Eome.  He  welcomed  me  most  cozdia! 
and  I  was  delighted  to  sec  him  again.  Grant,  Sherman,  Sheridi 
These  are  the  three  stars,  the  three  heroes  who  destroyed  the  0 
federation,  and  by  their  swords  brought  about  the  cementing  togei 
of  tho  two  halves  of  the  Union.*  * 

Here  is  the  portrait  of  General  Sheridan,  hastily  dashed  off 
the  graphic  pen  of  his  visitor : 

*  His  broad  face,  reddened  and  tanned  and  lined  by  the  care,  watd 
iicss,  and  emotions  of  the  late  campaign,  breathes  at  once  an  air  of  sin 
modesty  and  honest  pride.  His  brown  eyes  shoot  lightning,  and 
of  the  Celtic  blood  which  flows  in  his  veins.  His  countenance 
presses  intelligence,  boldness,  and  that  indomitable  couri^  wl 
seems  to  provoke  danger.  He  wears  his  hair  cut  short,  and  i 
middle  height,  with  square  shoulders  and  powerful  limbis.  Hie 
ti-actors  accuse  him  of  cruelty,  and  speak  of  him  as  the  extermin 
of  the  Indians ;  his  friends  simply  adore  him.  Both  one  and 
other  talk  of  him  as  a  dashing  officer ;  in  fact,  one  has  but  to  loo 
him  to  understand  that  he  is  the  sort  of  man  who  would  lead  on 
soldiers  to  death  or  victory.' 

Like  all  public  men  who  have  done  great  things  (it  is  add 
and  *  who  are  not  somebodies  only,  while  they  occupy  the  g 

*  The  original  runs  thuH :  '  Grant,  Sherman,  Sheridan !  Toilk  les  trois  a 
Ics  trois  heros  qui  ont  brisd  In  confederation  ct,  tant  hien  que  mal,  reuoudi 
Icurs  cp^es  les  deux  moiti^  do  T Union ! '  In  the  following  portrait  of  Shei 
111  so,  tho  translator,  trustiog  to  her  command  of  language,  has  not  kept  doM 
the  text. 

sitoa 


A  Ravibk  round  the  World.  251 

situation  which  they  owe  to  an  irony  of  fate,  to  a  trick  of  fortune- 
or  to  intrigue,'  the  General  detests  popularity :  *  I  have  the 
greatest  horror  of  popular  demonstrations,'  were  his  words. 
*  These  very  men  who  deafen  you  with  their  cheers  to-day  are 
capable  of  throwing  stones  and  mud  at  you  to-morrow.'  H(» 
was  unconsciously  paraphrasing  the  Scottish  monarch  in  the- 
^Lacly  of  the  Lake :' 

'  With  like  acclaim  the  vulgar  throat 
Strain'd  for  King  James  their  >vaming  note : 
With  like  acclaim  they  bailed  the  day 
When  first  I  broke  the  Douglas'  sway. 
And  like  acclaim  would  Douglas  greet, 
If  he  could  hurl  mc  from  my  seat.' 

After  three  days  at  Chicago,  the  Baron  comes  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  in  the  Far  West  the  towns  are  quickly  seen  and  are  all 
alike.  *One  may  say  the  same  of  the  hotels,  which  play  so- 
great  a  part  here,  not  only  in  the  life  of  a  traveller,  but  in  the 
lives  of  the  residents.'  By  living  at  an  hotel,  a  couple  save  the 
expense  and  trouble  of  housekeeping ;  but  how  is  the  wife  to 
occupy  herseK  whilst  the  husband  is  at  his  office  or  his  counting 
house  ?  *  He  only  comes  in  at  meal  times  and  devours  his  food 
''^ith  the  silence  and  expedition  of  a  starving  man.  Then  he 
rushes  back  to  his  treadmill.'  There  is  no  home,  no  domesticitv  : 
Juid  the  children,  living,  as  it  were,  in  public,  grow  up  bold, 
<^onfident,  and  pert.  The  chief  education  they  get  is  the  (when 
premature)  corrupting  education  of  the  world. 

'  These  little  gentlemen  talk  loud,  and  are  as  proud  and  sharp  as 
the  full-grown  men  of  their  nation ;  liie  young  girls  at  eight  and  nine 
T^tts  old  excel  in  the  arts  of  coquetry  and  flirtation,  and  promise  to 
become  "  fast "  young  ladies.  But  nevertheless  they  make  good  and 
&iihful  wives.  If  flioir  husband  should  bo  rich,  they  will  help  him 
to  ruin  himself  by  excessive  extravagance  in  dress ;  but  they  will 
•ccept  misery  with  equal  calmness  and  resignation,  and  fly  into  the 
*Wtte  follies  as  of  old,  the  moment  there  is  a  change  in  the  wheel  of 
fortune.' 

The  deference  paid  to  women  in  the  United  States  is  at 
once  a  privilege,  a  safeguard,  and  a  recognition  of  their 
worth. 

*  Everywhere  and  at  all  hours  she  may  appear  alone  in  public. 

16  may  travel  alone  from  the  borders  of  the  Atlantic  to  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico,  or  the  states  of  the  Pacific.  Everywhere  she  is  the  object  of 
Jj^spectful  gallantry,  which  might  be  called  chivalric,  if  it  wore  less 
^olous,  and  which  sometimes  becomes  even  grotesque  and  ridiculous* 
•v^or  example,  I  am  sitting  in  one  of  those  tramway-cars  which  cross- 

all 


252  A  Ramble  round  the  World. 

all  the  principal  streets  of  the  great  towns.  A  tap  of  a  pa 
fan  rouses  me  from  my  meditations,  or  perhaps  from  sleep ; 
standing  right  in  front  of  me  a  young  woman,  who  looks  a 
head  to  foot,  with  an  imperious,  haughty,  and  even  angry  e 
I  wake  up  to  the  situation,  and  hasten  to  give  her  my  seat, 
takes  at  onco,  without  deigning  to  thank  me,  eyen  by  a  1 
smile.  The  consequence  is,  that  I  am  obliged  to  perform  \ 
my  journey  standing^  in  a  most  uncomfortable  position,  and  1 
by  a  leather  strap,  which  is  fastened  for  that  purpose  alon 
of  the  carriage.  One  day,  a  young  girl  had  expelled,  in  ti  ] 
cavalier  fashion,  a  yenerable  old  man  from  his  seat,  who  wa 
lame.  At  the  moment  of  her  leaving  the  carriage,  one  o 
Tellers  called  her  back :  *^  Madam,  you  have  forgotten  so 
She  turned  hastily  to  retrace  her  steps.  *'You  have  fo: 
thank  this  gentleman  I '" 

A  French  traveller,  whom  we  recently  had  occasion 
has  formed  an  exceedingly  low  estimate  of  female  m 
the  United  States.*  Baron  de  Hiibner  denounces  such 
as  unfounded  and  unjust.  Married  women  in  Americs 
rule,  unexceptionable.  '  If  they  are  too  fond  of  di 
generally  their  husbands  who  wish  it : '  a  difference 
American  and  other  husbands  well  worthy  of  being  m 
exists.  When  there  is  anything  wrong  about  the  g 
that,  if  naturally  lively,  they  are  apt  to  become  *  fa 
semble  the  Princess  of  Samoa  and  her  attendant  nyn 
are  described  in  *  South  Sea  Bubbles '  by  '  The  Earl'  a 
the  dances  they  ought  never  to  have  danced,  singing 
they  ought  never  to  have  sung,  and  '  winking  the  w 
ought  never  to  have  wunk.' 

'  But  this  vulgar  coquetry,  however  jarring  to  good  ta 
goes  beyond  a  certain  point.  Only,  beardless  boy,  just  an 
Europe,  don't  be  taken  in  by  her!  Bo  on  your  guard, 
always  a  father,  a  brother,  or  an  uncle  near,  who,  with  his  i 
the  bowie-knife  (the  Arkansas  toothpick)  under  his  an 
ready  to  ask  you,  with  all  imaginable  politeness,  if  your  in 
fair  and  honourable.' 

In  the  good  old  duelling  days,  it  was  well  for  a  vis 
Irish  house  to  be  equally  on  his  guard,  and  the  anm 
of  Lady  Bink's  marriage  to  Sir  Bingo,  at  St.  Rons 
was  preceded  by  the  sudden  apparition  of  a  brother  o 
an  officer,  who  alighted  from  a  post-chaise,  hold! 
hand  a  slip  of  a  well-dried  oak,  accompanied  by  anotl 
man  in  undress  military  attire,  carrying  an  Andrea  F 


*  *  Lea  Etats-UuU  Contemporains,*  &o.,  par  Claudio  Jannet.    C 


A  Ramble  round  the  World.  253 

*a  neat  mahogany  box,  eighteen  inches  long,  three  deep,  and 
some  six  broad.'  Manners  and  customs  in  certain  stages  of 
drilisation  bear  a  striking  resemblance  to  each  other  in  the 
most  widely  separated  quarters  of  the  world. 

Before  resuming  his  journey,  the  Baron  pays  a  just  tribute 
to  the  man  to  whom  he  was  largely  indebted  for  lightening 
and  smoothing  it. 

'At  Chicago  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  great  man.  Erery  one 
bas  heard  of  the  Pullman  cars.  Those  who  are  going  to  travel  to 
loj  great  distance  always  try  to  procure  one,  and  then  marvel  that 
thu  philanthropic  yehide  has  not  yet  been  introduced  on  any  of  the 
Enzopean  lines  of  railways.  The  inventor,  who  is  just  returned  from 
Cinuiintinople  and  Yienna,  said  to  me :  *'  Buropeans  are  not  yet  ripe 
for  these  kmds  of  comforts ;  they  don't  know  how  to  travel ;  but  by 
lodbye  they  will  understand  and  appreciate  me." ' 

Amongst  the  worthies  entitled  to  a  place  in  the  Elysian 
fields,  Virgil  mentions — 

*  Inventas  aut  qui  vitam  excoluore  per  artes/ 

paraphrased  rather  than  translated  by  Dryden — 

<  And  searching  wits,  of  mere  mechanic  parts 
Y^o  grace  their  age  with  new  invented  arts.' 

Mr.  Pullman  comes  strictly  within  the  category,  and  deserves 
to  be  called  great,  at  least  as  much  as  '  the  great  Twalmley,'  who 
sisomed  the  appellation  on  the  strength  of  having  invented  a 
hox*iron  for  smoothing  linen.  The  Baron  was  particularly 
<tinck  by  the  marks  of  respect  shown  to  Mr.  Pullman  by  the 
Workmen,  officials,  and  general  public,  as  he  solemnly  led  the 
v&j  through  the  magnificent  halls  of  the  chief  station. 

*  It  was  another  Louis  XIY.  walking  through  the  ante-chambers  of 
VemiUes.  If  you  wish  to  convince  yourself  of  the  folly  of  people's 
^leiins  of  equality,  come  to  America.  Here,  as  everywhere  else, 
^heie  are  kings  and  princes.  They  have  always  been,  and  always 
will  be  to  the  end  of  tmie.' 

There  will  always  be  inequalities  of  this  sort,  so  long  as 
personal  qualities  are  unequal ;  there  will  always  be  kings  and 
pnnces  by  the  right  divine  of  genius  or  intellect,  if  not  by 
die  ruder  right  of  might  or  bodily  strength.  But  this  is  tacitly 
admitted  by  the  democrats,  foolish  as  they  may  be,  who  protest 
Jgwuit  class  privileges  and  hereditary  rank  :  where  they  err  is, 
^  Attaching  undue  importance  to  equality — 

*  not  equal  all  but  free, 
Equally  free,  for  orders  and  degree 
Jar  not  with  liberty  but  well  consist.' 

Political 


'25i  A  Ramble  round  the  World, 

Politicfil  liberty  has  not  thriven  in  France  under  democratic 
institutions  nor  been  promoted  by  equality,  and  its  prospects 
are  not  much  brighter  in  the  United  States.  *  The  republic,* 
exclaimed  a  rich  farmer  from  Illinois  in  a  Pullman  car,  'has 
had  its  day  ;  what  we  want  now  is  a  dictatorship  ....  Eveij- 
thing  is  going  to  the  devil,  and  a  military  dictatorship  is  the 
only  thing  that  can  put  things  straight.'  On  this  topic,  adds 
the  Baron,  every  man  becomes  eloquent.  At  last  they  agree 
upon  the  necessity  of  preserving  their  republic.  *It  is  indis- 
pensable,' they  argue,  '  as  long  as  we  have  such  a  mass  of 
uncultivated  land.  When  America  is  more  populated,  then 
we  must  have  a  military  dictatorship.' 

He  reaches  Salt  Lake  City  on  the  4th  of  June.  Mormonism 
was  already  tottering,  more  from  external  than  internal  causes, 
but  he  was  able  to  note  its  most  characteristic  features  on  the 
spot,  and  a  more  interesting  subject  of  philosophic  specnlation 
it  would  be  no  easy  matter  to  alight  upon  in  either  hemisphere. 
There  is  nothing  extraordinary  in  its  rise  and  spread  as  a  faith 
-or  creed.  The  credulity  of  mankind  has  proved  inexhaustible 
in  all  ages.  But  what  surprises  and  confounds,  is  the  material 
prosperity  which  it  created  so  long  as  it  was  let  alone — its 
success  as  a  social  organisation  in  defying  all  the  lessons  of 
experience,  rising  superior  to  all  the  doctrines  of  economic 
science,  and  putting  to  shame  the  wisest  legislators  who  have 
ever  tried  their  hands  at  making  men  good  and  happy  by  systems 
of  government  or  by  set  rule.  If,  it  may  well  be  asked,  the  tree 
is  known  by  its  fruits,  what  sort  of  tree  is  this  that  has 
thriven  and  borne  so  much  good  fruit,  after  having  been  stripped 
of  its  leaves  and  branches,  torn  up  by  the  roots,  and  hastilj 
transplanted  to  an  arid  waste  ? 

Let  us  contemplate  it  at  the  lowest  point  of  its  fortunes, 
when  it  had  undergone  the  worst  that  persecution  could  inflict} 
when  its  disciples  had  been  decimated  by  massacre,  when  its 
founder  had  met  a  violent  death  in  prison,  and  nothing  was  left 
for  his  successor  but  to  take  refuge  with  the  remnant  of  the 
sect  beyond  the  extreme  confines  of  civilisation.  Brigham 
Young's  reconnoitring  expedition  to  the  Valley  of  the  Salt 
Lake,  was  undertaken  in  the  spring  of  1847.  This  chosen 
spot  was  then  unknown,  except  to  hunters  and  trappers,  who 
described  it  as  an  arid  desert,  hemmed  in  by  rocks ;  the  water 
brackish  and  unfit  for  drink,  and  the  vegetation  confined  to 
wild  sage  and  sunflowers  devoured  by  locusts  almost  befoi* 
they  could  spring  up.  An  old  trapper  offered  to  give  a  thousand 
dollars  for  every  head  of  com  raised  in  the  valley. 

'  Probably  the  information  collected  upon  the  spot  by  B^^ 

YoflOg 


A  Ramble  round  the  World.  255 

ig  was  Bomewliat  more  encouraging :  anjhow  the  emigration  was 
red  upon.  They  started  in  the  depth  of  winter  in  a  multitude 
nirans — ^men,  women,  and  children  in  waggons,  on  asses,  iu 
l-l»irow8,  on  foot — and  took  the  road  to  the  banks  of  thu 
)iiri,  and  from  thence  straight  on  to  the  Eocky  Mountains.  The 
we  was  upwards  of  1500  miles,  and  that  through  a  country 
it  entirely  deprived  of  all  resources.  Misery,  privations,  and 
dity  cruelly  tried,  without  subduing,  the  courage,  perseverance, 
ertUity  in  expedients  of  the  Prophet,  or  the  resignation,  patience, 
ilind  fidth  of  his  followers.  Since  the  exodus  of  the  Israelites, 
ry  has  never  registered  a  similar  enterprise.' 

ss  than  twenty  years  the  Valley  of  the  Salt  Lake  seemed  In 
r  way  to  resemble  the  Happy  Valley  of  Rasselas,  or — 

'Sweet  Auburn,  loveliest  village  of  the  plain, 
Where  health  and  plenty  cheered  the  labouring  swain.* 

through  the  Claude  Lorraine  glass  of  novelty  and  contrast, 
Vew  Jerusalem  fastened  on  the  imagination  of  traveller  after 
^Uer  as  a  city  of  villas  with  gardens  abounding  in  fruit 
flowers,  inhabited  by  an  industrious,  pious,  contented  popu- 
n,  exempt  from  poverty  and  crime. 

iron  de  Hiibner,  coming  later  into  the  field  and  taught 
deism  by  experience,  has  lifted  a  corner  of  the  veil  and  to 
rtain  extent  disenchanted  us,  although  fully  admitting  that 
rellous  influences  have  been  at  work,  marvellous  effects  pro- 
d,  and  that  the  gprand  director,  the  worker  of  all  these 
ders,  was  Brigham  Young. 

hi^bour  and  Faith" — ^that  is  their  device — those  are  the  two 
Is  which  are  for  ever  in  Brigham  Young's  mouth,  and  which,  in 
explain  these  strange  phenomena.  But  what  secret  motives 
9d  me  birth  of  this  &ith  in  the  hearts  of  those  who  never  pes- 
d  anything  of  the  sort  at  the  time  they  embraced  these  new 
rines?  How  has  this  transformation  been  effected?  The 
uoos  tell  you  ''It's  inspiration."  But  that  is  no  explanation. 
•  That  which  the  gentiles  give  you  is  not  more  satisfactory.  I 
d  not,  however,  let  myself  be  discouraged.  I  went  on  question- 
thiiddng,  and  watching,  and  the  following  are  the  conclusions  to 
ih  I  at  last  arrived.' 

I^e  cannot  congratulate  the  Baron  on  having  got  to  the  bottom 
le  mystery,  although  he  has  let  in  some  fresh  light  upon  it ; 
we  must  remind  him  that  the  Mormons  placed  the  same 
licit  faith  in  Joe  Smith,  their  founder,  who  once  under- 
^  in  imitation  of  the  Scripture  miracle,  to  walk  dry-shod 
^  a  deep  river.  Pausing  on  the  brink,  he  turned  to  his 
=iples  and  asked,  ^  Do  you  not  believe  I  could  do  what  I  say  ?' 
reiving  a  unanimous  response  in  the  affirmative,  he  coolly 

walked 


256  A  Ramble  rouml  the  World. 

walked  away  saying,  ^  Then,  it  is  just  the  same  as  if  I  had  done 
it,'  and  they  remained  unshaken  in  their  faith.  Indeed  the  chief 
novelty  of  the  Baron's  theory  is  that  what  leads  the  iwimimig 
majority  of  the  neophytes  to  adopt  Mormonism  is  not  faith, 
meaning  religious  faith,  at  all :  that  the  inducements  suppoied 
to  be  urged  by  Brigham  Young's  recruiting  sergeants  or  crimpi 
arc  purely  mundane. 

"'Here,"  exclaims  one  of  them  to  a  Welsh  audienoe,  '^yoniie 
nothing  but  slaves — slaves  of  misery,  if  not  a  master.  In  the  Yilkr 
of  the  Saints,  independence  awaits  you ;  independence  and  ease^  i 
any  rate — perhaps  riches.  No  more  servile  subjection;  no  more  pri- 
vations ;  no  more  cares.  In  this  world,  as  in  the  next,  your  fatnre » 
assured."  Then  addressing  himsdf  to  the  young  men  anumff  hv 
audience  with  that  sinister  smile  peculiar  to  the  Prophet  aod  his 
followers,  he  speaks  of  the  delights  of  the  harem,  and  of  the  beady  of 
the  young  girls  of  Descret,  promising  them  as  many  wives  as  flflj 
please — developing,  in  fact,  the  whole  theory  of  plurality.  "^  Compaie 
the  state  you  are  now  in  with  what  you  may  be,"  he  Ay^kipys  in 
conclusion,  ''  and  choose  1 "  ' 

The  manner  in  which  the  missionary  is  selected  and  dei- 
patched  resembles  the  speeding  of  the  fiery  cross  by  Roderidk 
Dhu  through  his  clan.  M alise,  the  henchman,  brings  it  to  a 
family  assembled  to  attend  the  funeral  of  its  chie£  The  prin- 
cipal mourner,  the  son  and  heir,  receives  and  carries  it  <m  till 
he  encounters  a  bridal  party.  The  bridegroom  drops'  the  hand 
of  the  bride  to  grasp  the  emblem  of  blood  and  strife  : 

'  Clan  Alpine's  cause,  her  chieftain's  trust, — 
Her  summons  dread,  brooks  no  delay : 
Stretch  to  the  race — away  !  away ! ' 

'  Away,  away,'  is  Brigham  Young's  summary  mandate  when 
he  wants  a  missionary  for  haply  one  of  the  most  distant  repffo^ 
of  the  earth. 

'  He  always  chose  his  emissaries  by  inspiration.  It  has  oAb 
happened  to  him  to  accost  a  perfect  stranger  in  the  street.  FoUowiilf 
a  sudden  inspiration,  he  will  tell  him  to  start,  and  srive  bin  ^ 
apostolic  mission  to  Europe,  Australia,  or  to  the  islands  in  the  SooA 
Seas.  The  man  thus  summoned,  leaves  wife,  children,  and  bnsiiM 
and  starts.' 

Relying  on  the  unanimous  testimony  of  the  best  informed 
persons  on  the  spot.  Baron  dc  Hiibner  states  that  these  misflOO' 
aries  never  attempt  to  preach  to  the  rich  or  even  to  those  who 
are  tolerably  well  off  or  moderately  educated  ;  and  after  a  iapi<l 
summary  of  the  trashy  or  unintelligible  Mormon  doctrineifh^ 
asks : 


A  Ramble  round  the  World.  257 

'  Ib  it  possible  that  the  preaching  of  such  doctrines  should  toa6h 
9ople*8  hearts,  strike  their  imaginations,  and  attract  from  the  worst 
nrters  of  London,  from  the  dockyards  of  Liverpool,  from  the 
jrieoltnral  population  of  Wales,  the  3000  or  4000  converts  who 
me  every  year  on  the  borders  of  the  Salt-Lake  City  ?  It  is  quite 
tpoBsible.' 

The  wants  of  the  emigrants  were  provided  for,  till  they  were 
lie  to  provide  for  themselves.  They  were  at  once  allotted  land 
'  cultivate  or  build  upon,  and  supplied  with  tools  and  materials. 
Dt  they  were  held  accountable  for  the  price  or  value  to  the  com- 
unity,  ue.,  to  the  Prophet,  and  duly  inscribed  on  the  debtor 
de  (^  his  books.  He  is,  in  fact,  the  real  and  sole  creditor, 
t  sole  capitalist,  the  sole  employer  of  labour,  throughout  the 
ttire  territory ;  and  the  territory  is  larger  than  many  European 
ngdoms.  ^  He  has  in  consequence  the  reputation  of  being 
t  richest  man  in  the  United  States.  People  say  he  has  a 
rtane  of  upwards  of  twelve  millions  of  dollars ;'  that  is,  if  he 
Hdd  realise  it,  which  he  palpably  could  not.  If  the  com- 
nnitj  are  bound  to  him,  he  is  equally  bound  to  the  community  ; 
id  how  he  has  managed  to  get  so  good  a  return  for  his  or  their 
ivestments  is  an  art  which  both  individual  capitalists  and  co- 
)erative  societies  would  do  well  to  learn  of  him.  To  account 
r  his  getting  so  much  good  work  out  of  such  labourers,  such 
eming  produce  from  such  a  soil,  we  come  back  perforce  to 
ith.  Blind  confidence,  unlimited  devotion  on  the  one  part ; 
dicious  management,  mild  patriarchal  government  on  the 
her — these  were  the  true  causes,  the  indispensable  conditions, 
Mormonite  prosperity  whilst  it  lasted.  There  was  no  talk 
Creeds  or  Articles.  At  the  formation  of  the  Conservative 
inistry  of  1858,  a  noble  Duke,  a  distinguished  member  of 
e  party,  being  asked  what  he  understood  by  Conservatism, 
plied,  ^Lord  Derby.'  A  Mormonite  similarly  called  on  for 
definition  of  his  principles,  would  have  replied,  'Brigham 
iHiDg.'  Baron  de  Hiibner  states  that  the  community  not  only 
^  in  utter  subjection  to  this  man,  but  are  in  fact  his  prisoners ; 
Jtthis  rule  recalls  that  of  the  Caesars,  when  (in  the  words  of 
ibbon)  *to  resist  was  fatal,  and  it  was  impossible  to  fly;* 
*t  any  fair  victim  of  polygamy  who  should  dream  of  a  sepa- 
tion  or  divorce,  would  find  herself  in  the  condition  of  Zelica^ 
the  *  Veiled  Prophet,'  when  she  consents  to  fly  with  Selim  : 

'  Scarce  had  she  said 
These  breathless  words,  when  a  voice  deep  and  dread, 
Bang  through  the  casement  near,  <«  Thy  Oath  I  Thy  Oath ! " ' 

ny  recalcitrant  or  troublesome  member  is  put  out  of  the  pale 

die  law,  and  his  goods  are  confiscated. 

Vol.  14S.—N0.  285.  s  '  And 


258  A  Ramble  round  the  World. 

*  And  if  it  be  a  qnestdon  of  real,  active,  dangorons  hexeey^  whj  8 
men  simply  disappear.  Sometimes  their  remains  are  foond ;  so 
times  not.  The  few  gentiles  who  are  allowed  to  live  here  axe  o 
tolerated ;  bnt  their  existence  is  not  an  enviable  one.  Woe  beto  tl 
if  they  dare  to  make  love  to  a  Mormon  girl  I  The  offender  wooU 
simply  torn  to  pieces.  This  has  been  done  more  than  onoe.  I 
to  all  these  things,  the  difficulty  of  getting  here  and  the  impossibi 
of  leaving  the  city  without  the  consent  of  the  Prophet,  and 'yon  ^ 
allow  that  the  isolation  is  complete.' 

The  Baron  must  have  been  misinformed.  Brigham  Yooi 
rule  could  not  have  inspired  the  willing  obedience  which  it  • 
inspire,  or  have  produced  such  beneficial  results,  or  been  f 
mitted  to  endure  so  long,  had  it  resembled  a  Vehmgericht 
been  stained  by  violence  or  crime.  The  most  was  made 
every  sort  of  charge  that  could  be  brought  against  him,  t 
the  establishment  of  polygamy  was  by  common  consent 
worst. 

^  Verily,'  said  the  son  of  Abbas,  ^  the  chiefest  of  the  Moil 
was  the  foremost  of  men  in  his  passion  for  women.'  T 
passion  grew  upon  Mahomet  as  he  advanced  in  years,  and 
the  Koran  only  allowed  four  wives  or  concubines,  he  proca 
a  plenary  indulgence,  through  the  Angel  Gabriel,  to  take 
many  as  he  chose.  Sooner  or  later  he  had  sixteen  or  sevente 
and  at  Medina  he  had  eleven  occupying  separate  apartme 
around  his  house.  Brigham  Young  resembled  Mahomet  as  « 
in  vigour  of  constitution  as  in  the  late  development  of  the  sex 
passion.  It  was  not  until  1852  that,  in  order  to  gratify  the  li 
of  the  flesh  without  open  sin  or  scandal,  he  revived  and  sa 
tioned  the  patriarchal  doctrine  of  a  plurality  of  wives, 
justify  this  step,  he  produced  a  revelation,  notoriously  apoc 
phal,  which,  he  said,  Joe  Smith  had  received  a  year  before 
death.  He  was  generous  enough  to  allow  to  others  the  privil* 
he  certainly  created  for  his  own  special  delectation :  it  bei 
however,  distinctly  understood  that  no  one  was  to  marry  m 
wives  than  he  could  maintain,  and  no  one  to  marry  at 
without  a  licence  from  Brigham  Young : 

^  The  higher  a  man  advances  in  the  ranks  of  hierarchy,  the  m(M 
duty  compels  him  to  use  the  privilege  of  plurality.  Brigham  Y(H 
at  this  moment,  possesses  sixteen  wives,  without  counting  sixfti 
others,  who  are  what  is  called  sealed.  Some  of  these  latter  live  w 
him  in  a  conjugal  fashion,  but  the  greater  part  are  treated  as  wide 
or  old  maids,  who  by  this  means,  hope  to  become,  in  a  future  sb 
what  they  are  not  here  below — the  real  wives  of  the  Prophet  Ge« 
Smith,  the  historian,  has  five  wives;  the  other  apostles  oooti 
themselves  with  four.    None  have  less  than  three.' 

AsesI 


A  Ramble  round  the  World.  259 

A  sealed  wife  is  a  spiritual  wife ;  she  is  not  married  in  the 
flesh;  and  she  may  be  sealed  to  two  husbands,  one  for  this  world 
and  one  for  the  next.  The  peculiar  relations  established  by 
iealing  are  not  explained ;  but  Baron  de  Hiibner  is  hardly 
justified  in  terming  it  a  'system  of  ignorance  and  credulity 
worked  in  favour  of  human  lust  under  the  pretended  invocation 
of  God.'  All  preceding  travellers  agree  that  the  relations  of 
the  sexes  are  far  from  standing  on  a  loose  or  immodest  footing 
amongst  the  Mormonites.  But  there  are  abundant  signs  that 
pdygamy  is  degrading  to  women,  and  fatal  in  the  long  run  to 
the  domestic  virtues  and  domestic  happiness,  even  assuming 
{a  rash  and  untenable  assumption,)  that  the  recognised  supply 
rf  women  could  be  kept  up.  Symptoms  of  the  real  tendency  of 
the  practice  fell  under  the  personal  observation  of  the  traveller : 

^In  the  carriage  where  I  have  installed  mysel£»  I  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  watching  one  of  the  effects  of  polygamy.  The  greater  part  of 
the  men  are  travelling  with  two  wives :  some  even  have  brought  three 
with  them ;  but  the  youngest  is  evidently  the  favourite.  The  hus- 
hnd  does  not  trouble  his  head  about  any  of  the  others,  he  only  talks 
to  her  and  bays  her  cakes  and  fruit  at  the  station.  The  other  neg- 
lected wives,  resigned  to  their  fate,  sit  by,  with  sad  and  cross  expres- 
sions. This  kind  of  scene  is  perpetually  being  repeated.  In  iekot,  it 
is  in  the  nature  of  things.' 

He  gets  into  conversation  with  a  car-driver,  who  had  one  wife 
domiciled  at  the  east  and  another  to  the  west  of  the  city.  '  It 
i>  economical,'  he  said ;  '  and,  besides,  it  avoids  scenes  of 
jealousy.' 

In  his  interview  with  Brigham  Young,  after  duly  recognising 
the  claims  to  superiority  of  one  '  who  has  made  his  will  a  law  to 
his  disciples,  and  taught  them  how  to  transform  a  desert  into  a 
Jiwden,'  the  Baron,  referring  to  the  M ormonite  practice  of  poly- 
P^Ji  declares  the  general  opinion  of  Europe  to  be,  that  it  is 
^  shame  to  woman  and  a  disgrace  to  the  country  in  which  we 
lire: 

*  Here  the  audience  gave  an  ominous  growl  of  dissent.  The  Presi- 
^t  started ;  but  contained  himself.  A^^r  a  few  moments  of  silence, 
^  said,  speaking  in  a  low  voice  and  with  a  slightly  disdainful  smile : 
''Prejudice,  prejudice,  prejudice  I  We  have  the  greatest  of  all  ex- 
f^ples— the  example  of  ike  patriarchs.  What  was  pleasing  to  Grod 
^  their  day,  why  should  it  be  proscribed  now  ?  "  He  then  went  into 
ft  long  explanation  of  a  theory  which  was  new  to  me,  regretting  that 
'^  did  not  imitate  the  example  of  animals,  and  treating  the  subject 
^the  relations  of  the  sexes  in  so  confused  and  at  the  same  time  so 
*i&higaou8  a  manner,  that  it  was  next  to  impossible  to  understand  his 
^iteung ;  but  he  arrived  finally  at  the  conclusion  that  polygamy  was 

s  2  the 


260  .  A  Ramble  round  the  World. 

the  only  efiectnal  remedy  for  the  great  social  evil  of  proBtitaii( 
Then  he  interrupted  himself  by  exclaiming, '  As  for  the  rest,  what  I 
and  what  I  teach,  I  do  and  teach  by  the  special  command  of  OodL  ^ 
When  I  got  np  to  take  my  leave,  he  took  my  hand,  drew  me  ~ 

him  and  murmmred,  closing  his  eyes,  '*  Blessing,  blessing,  luck ! 


f  9  > 


The  population  principle  has  been  hitherto  defied  with  ii 
punity,  but  its  operation  cannot  be  long  delayed.  Children,  iiv^< 
are  told,  swarm.  You  tumble  over  them  in  all  directions.  IWS. 
Remy  says  that  the  Prophet  had  nine  born  to  him  in  oi 
week.  He  had  forty-eight  living  when  Baron  de  Hiibner  wi 
at  Salt  Lake  City,  his  last  baby  being  then  five  months  oLd. 
A  story  is  told  of  his  seeing  two  boys  quarrelling  in  the  streeC^s,. 
and  after  administering  a  sound  drubbing  to  one  of  them,  i  k^-* 
quiring  whose  son  he  was?  ^I  am  President's  son,'  was  time- 
reply. 

The  traveller's  next  stage  is  Corinne,  a  town  that  had  spruzmg' 
into  existence  within  four  years.  He  puts  up  at  the  *  Hotel  of 
the  Metropolis,'  a  wretched  plank  hut,  and,  by  dint  of  intere:st^ 
secures  the  best  bed-room,  exactly  six  feet  square ;  a  thin  boair<5l* 
ing  separating  him  from  his  neighbours,  on  one  side  a  youKmg^ 
Mexican  with  his  wife,  who  sing  and  play  on  the  goitar ; 
the  other  a  rich  China  merchant  and  his  suite,  whose  vicinity 
disagreeably  made  known  by  the  smell : 

*•  ^  John,"  says  my  landlord  (*'  John  "  is  the  generic  name  of  all 
children  of  the  Celestial  Empire),  '*  John  smells  horribly,  like  all 
countrymen.     It  is  an  odour  su^i  generis^  but  for  yon,  it  is  a 
opportunity  of  preparing  yourself  for  your  voyage  to  China." ' 

The  streets  are  full  of  white  men  armed  to  the  teeth,  miserabi' 
looking    Indians   dressed    in   the   ragged   shirts   and   trouse'^^ 
supplied  by  the  Government,  and  Chinese  with  yellow,  hancJ* 
intelligent  faces.     '  No  town  in  the  Far  West  gave  us  so 
an  idea  of  what  is  meant  by  border-life,  Le.  the  struggle  betw< 
civilisation  and  savage  men  and  things.'     The  most  promine: 
part  in  this  struggle  has  been  enacted  by  the  *  rowdy,' 
pride  and  glory  it  is  to  have  been  always  ready  with  the  revolr^^^ 
and  the  bowie  knife,  to  have  shot  down  or  stabbed  his  man  ^^"^ 
men  in  open  day,  and  to  have  again  and  again  defied  or  evad^?^ 
justice  by  audacity  and   craft.     This  estimable   species  ha*^^ 
fairly  fastened  on  the  imagination  of  the  Baron,     rfot  conte:^'^ 
with  placing  them   amongst  *the   great'  as   Fielding,  by  ^^ 
ironical  definition  of  greatness,  managed   to   place  Jonaths^-^ 
Wild,*  he  insists  on  making  them  the  objects  of  ^  hero  wordiitP 

*  *  GrcatnesB  consists  in  bringing  all  manner  of  mischief  on  manldiid,  a&o' 
goodness  in  removing  it  from  them.' — Fielding. 


A  Ramble  round  the  World.  261 

'^rliich  throws  Mr.  Carlyle's  into  the  shade.     In  another  sphere, 

«uid  with  a  moral  sense  (unluckily  wanting)  added   to   their 

xronnige,  energy,  and  bodily  strength,  some  of  them,  he  contends, 

nmaj  have  had  their  names  inscribed  on  the  rolls  of  fame  as 

^beneflEU^rs  to  mankind : — 

*To  struggle  with  and  finally  conquer   savage  nature,  certain 
qxialities  are  needed  which  have  naturally  their  corresponding  defects. 
X.KX)k  back  and  you  will  see  the  cradles  of  all  civilisation  surrounded 
^vv^th  giants  of  herculean  strength,  ready  to  run  every  risk  and  to  shrink 
'&xnn  neither  danger  nor  crime  to  attain  their  ends.     The  gods  and 
Itioroes  of  ancient  Greece  had  loose  ideas  enough  of  morals  and  pro- 
priety ;  the  founders  of  Rome,  the  adelantados  of  Queen  Isabella  and 
Oluuies  v.,  the  Dutch  colonisers  of  the  seventeenth  century,  were  not 
x^eioarkable  for  conscientious  scruples,  delicacy  of  taste,  or  particular 
x^efnement  of  manners.     It  is  only  by  the  peculiar  temper  of  the 
t^xm  and  place,  so  different  from  our  days,  that  we  can  distinguish 
tixem  from  the  backwoodsman  and  rowdy  of  the  American  continent.' 

Yet  such  is  the  ingratitude  of  mankind,  so  reluctant  and 
^^Tdy  the  appreciation  of  greatness,  that  the  very  generation 
''^ost  indebted  to  the  rowdy  and  best  acquainted  with  his 
quality,  was  ever  the  most  eager  to  cut  short  his  career  by  the 
Salter.     We  need  only  refer  to  what  happened  at  Cheyenne : — 

*  In  the  first  years  of  its  existence  it  was,  like  Denver  and  Jules- 
^^iig,  and  other  new  cities  in  this  country,  the  rendezvous  of  all  the 
'^oghs.     Its  orgies  were  fearful,  and  murder  and  rapine  were  the 
^Her  of  the  day.     In  the  language  of  the  place,  the  young  rowdies 
dined  on  a  man  every  day — that  is,  that  there  was  not  a  night,  that 
^  the  gambling-tables  or  in  the  low  public-houses,  which  swarmed  in 
Y^^  town,  one  man  or  other  did  not  come  to  an  untimely  end.     At 
*^^  the  better  dis]>osed  at  Cheyenne  organised  themselves  into  a 
T^€^Uanoe  committee,  "  and  one  morning,"  writes  my  '*  Great  Trans- 
continental Railroad  Guide-book,'*  *'  we  saw,  at  a  convenient  height 
^^Te  the  ground,  a  whole  row  of  these  desperadoes,  hung  on  a  cord. 
r^^o  warning  was  understood;  and  their  companions,  not  fancying  a 
^^ter,  relapsed  into  order.     By  which  means  Cheyenne  became  a 
^*^^ecily  quiet,  re8X)ectable  town." ' 

.     We  shall  presently  see  that  precisely  the  same  course  has 

^^u  taken  with  these  pioneers  of  progress  at  San  Francisco, 

^Od  with  nearly  similar  results.     Speaking  of  the  adventurers, 

^ho,  *  less  fortunate  or  less  clever,  close  their  short  and  stormy 

^f^ers  hanging  from  the  branch  of  a  tree,'  the  Baron  remarks, 

*nese  are  the  martyrs,  the  others  the  heroes,  of  this  species  of 

^^vilisation.'     It  is  to  be  feared  that  the  martyrs  outnumber  the 

'^^oes. 

An  object  which  met  his  eye  and  excited   liis  fancy  at  a 

station 


262  A  Ranible  rourul  the  World. 

station  on  the  railway  to  California  was  an  immense  quantity  of 
silver  ingots,  forming  two  high  walls,  waiting  to  be  loaded  oa 
the  trucks.    '  A  huge  mass  of  money,  piled  up  in  the  sun,  in  the 
heart  of  the  desert.      Certainly    the   prose   of  daily   life  and 
the  poetry  of  the  Thousand   and  One  Nights  run  very  doie  to- 
one  another  in  the  Far  West.'     Notwithstanding  the  fascination 
of  such  sights,  one  of  the  first  things  that  struck  him  in  Cali- 
fornia  was   that   the   gold   diggings  had   lost   much  of  their 
attraction,  and  were  beginning  to  be  neglected  for  less  dazxiing 
sources  of  wealth.    There  is  a  familiar  apologue  of  two  brothei* 
who  land  together  on  the  coast  of  the  supposed  Eldorado.    The 
younger  hurries  off  to  the  interior  in  search  of  the  predoos^ 
metals.    The  elder,  who  has  brought  seeds  and  farming  utensils,, 
selects  a  fertile  spot  which  he  cultivates  with  success.     At  the 
end  of  two  or  three  years  the  younger  returns  laden  with  goldy 
but  worn,  wasted,  the  shadow  of  his  former  self,  and  in  want  of 
all  the  necessaries  of  life.     These  are  readily  supplied  to  hiiA 
by  the  agriculturist,  but  they  are  charged  item  by  item,  aad 
when  the  adventurer  has  completely  recovered  his  health  aad 
strength,  he  is  startled  by  the  presentation  of  a  bill  of  chaige^ 
for  food,  lodging,  medicine,  clothes,  &c.,  which  considerably 
exceeds  the  full  amount  of  his  gold.     Indignant  at  this  hard" 
hearted  proceeding,  he  is   about  to  give  vent  to  reproache^^ 
when  he  is  told  that  he  is  welcome  to  keep  his  gold,  that 
payment  will  be  accepted,  the  bill  of  charges  being  only  mt 
as  a  lesson  to  indicate  the  superior  advantages  of  prudeno^i 
foresight,  and  regular  industry. 

Such  is  the  moral  of  this  apologue,  which  has  been  point 
and  strengthened  by  dearly-bought  experience  in  California- 
The  real  wealth  of  the  country  is  now  generally  acknowledge^^ 
to  consist  in  the  fertility  of  the  soil ;  and  agriculture  ^^ 
bringing  about  a  revolution  no  less  desirable  in  a  social  than 
an  economical  point  of  view  : — 

'  ^*  Mining  is  a  curse/*  are  the  words  in  everyone's  mouth, 
would  be  difficult  to  express  this  conviction  more  eloquently 
was  done  the  other  day  by  a  Protestant  minister  preaching  in 
Francisco.  '*  Don't  let  us  deceive  ourselves,"  he  exclaimed.  *V 
has  proved  that  society  can  never  organise  itself  satisfactorily  on 
auriferous  soil.  Nature  itself  is  in  bad  faith.  It  corrupts,  sednoo^ 
and  cheats  a  man.  It  laughs  at  the  sweat  of  his  brow.  It  truisforiB^ 
his  toil  into  a  game  of  chance,  and  his  word  into  a  lie." ' 

In  1849,  when  the  California  fever  broke  out,  San  Franciic^ 
could  not  boast  of  more  than  four  houses  deserving  of  the  namf* 
When  the  Baron  was  there  the  inhabitants  were  computed  at 
from  130,000  to  140,000.     Few  of  the  first  comers  made  or  (if 

thej 


A  Ramble  round  the  World.  263 

they  made)  kept  fortunes.  Gold  passed  through  their  hands  as 
through  a  sieve.  During  many  years  the  state  of  things  fell 
little  short  of  downright  anarchy : 

'  At  the  mines,  killing  toil ;  in  the  town,  perpetual  orgies  ;  every- 
vliaro  strife,  murders,  and  assassinations.  Blood  and  ahsinthe  flowed 
on  all  sides.  It  was  simply  a  hell  upon  earth ;  not  the  hell  of 
Dante,  hut  the  hell  imagined  hy  the  two  brothers  Breughel — one  of 
wkm  painted  scones  of  peasant  debaucheries,  and  the  other  devilries 
iriiich  only  a  Dutch  imagination  of  the  seventeenth  century  could 
]ia?e  invented.     It  was  the  acme  of  gross  and  yet  grotesque  vice.' 

At  length  the  Northerners  got  the  upper  hand  of  the  Missouri 
men,  and  establiished  the  famous  Vigilance  Committee ;  which 
hanged  right  and  left  and  (as  the  Baron  might  say)  made 
martyrs  of  rowdies  who  were  on  the  high  road  to 'heroism,  till 
something  like  order  was  established  and  life  and  property  were 

Eotected  in  a  fashion.     Then  trade  and  commerce  sprang  into 
e  and  vigour  on  a  scale  proportioned  to  the  requirements  of 

*  people  who  insist  that  everything  belonging  to  them  shall  be 
S^^t :  who  boasted,  during  the  War  of  Separation,  that  they 
^ould  have  the  largest  debt  in  the  world:  not  then  foreseeing 
^t  they  would  soon  be  surpassed  by  France. 

^  Coleridge  was  wont  to  maintain  that  the  habitual  contempla- 
^on  of  large  objects  has  an  expanding  effect  upon  the  mind ; 
^d  he  recommended  a  York  attorney  to  take  a  house  opposite 
™®  Minster  with  the  view  of  neutralising  the  contracting 
^fluences  of  his  profession.  Baron  de  Hiibner  incidentally 
'^'^  firms  this  doctrine : 

liike  the  commercial  man,  the  Califomian  trader  is  distinguished 
y  largeness  of  views,  boldness  of  conception,  and  a  natural  disposi- 
'^  to  venture  large  means  to  arrive  at  great  results.  One  might 
^^^  that  the  size  of  everything  in  nature  inspires  men  with 
^^diose  ideas.  This  is  one  of  the  principal  charms  of  the  country^ 
^  one  of  the  causes  which  bring  back  most  of  those  who  have  lived 
*^  for  some  time.' 

vJnless  things  have  greatly  changed  for  the  worse  within  the 
^^  five  years,  all  who  have  their  fortunes  to  make,  or  are  tired 
^  Our  humdrum  commonplace  life,  should  start  at  once  for  Cali- 
>«-iiia. 

*  There  methinks  would  be  enjoyment  more  than  in  this  march  of 

mind.' 

The  moral  atmosphere,  as  the  Baron  found  it,  is  like  the  air 
;ou  breathe,  and  acts  upon  body  and  soul  like  champagne  or 
laughing  gsA : 

'  The  life  you  lead  is  the  same.    You  are  in  opulence  or  in  misery. 

If 


264  A  Ramble  round  tlie  World. 

If  the  latter,  why  then,  work  I  You  are  the  master  of  your  own  des- 
tinj.  And  so  they  do  work,  and  speedily  become  rich.  In  the  **  early 
days,"  and  not  so  very  long  ago  either,  it  was  a  common  thing  to  flee 
gentlemen  standing  at  the  comers  of  the  streets  offering  their  services 
as  porters.  You  saw  them  dressed  in  one  of  Poole's  best  coats,  carry- 
ing sacks  of  flour,  trunks,  pianos,  and  the  like,  for  a  dollar  at  a  time. 
Now,  we  are  far  removed  from  this  exceptional  and  primitive  state  of 
things.  Everyone  has  found  his  place.  Hands  are  not  wanting :  only 
the  price  of  hand  labour,  which  seems  fabulous  to  us,  remains  the  i 


Nor  is  living  extravagantly  dear.  You  could  be  boarded,  he 
states,  and  lodged  at  the  best  hotels  for  17^  francs  a  day.  N^ew 
York  and  London,  he  goes  on  to  say,  are  fairly  distanced  by 
San  Francisco,  and  the  explanation  is  that  there  is  no  bad  system 
of  the  past  to  vitiate  the  present  or  curtail  the  future. 

'  The  past !  Why  there  is  none  I  That  is  the  secret  of  Califoniian 
life.  Add  to  this,  that  money  is  always  at  hand  for  everything.  Thftt 
is,  one  has  it  or  not,  as  the  case  may  be ;  but  if  at  this  moment  your 
exchequer  is  empty,  to-morrow  it  will  be  full.  So  it  comes  to  the 
same  thing ;  for  everyone  has  credit.  They  do  not,  therefore,  drft'*' 
back  before  any  question  of  expense.' 

The  climate  «ilso  has  its  charms  and  you  can  always  change 
it  in  an  hour.     You  have  only  to  cross  or  re-cross  the  gtjW- 
Then  again  the  extraordinary  abundance  of  iish,  flowers,  bX^ 
fruit  at  Francisco.     '  The  very  sight  of  these  treasures  of  nature 
piled  up  in  the  public  market-places,  and  on  all  sides,  rejoic^^ 
one's  heart.'     The  very  description  makes  one's  mouth  water- 
Men  of  letters  and  gentlemen  of  the  press  form  an  importai** 
body  in  San   Francisco,  and  one  of  the    most   distinguished  9 
Mr.  Hubert  Bancroft,  is  quite  as  enthusiastic  as  the  Baron   i** 
its  praise.       This  gentleman  declares  that  there  is  something 
indescribably  fascinating  about  California,   '  a  peculiar  play    ^^* 
light  and  shadow  on  the  hills  and  in  the  heart,  an  atmosph^^^ 
aerially  alcoholic' 

•  Said  one  of  the  expatriated  by  the  Vigilance  Committee  to  iJ^^ 
captain  of  the  steamer  on  reaching  Panama :  '*  Captain,  this  is  ^^^ 
place  for  me  :  you  must  take  me  back  to  San  Francisco."  ^  But  tla^7 
will  hang  you  higher  than  Haman,  if  I  do."  "  Captain,"  whined  At>^ 
evildoer,  '*  I  would  rather  hang  in  California  air  than  be  lord  of  ^1*^ 
soil  of  another  country." '  * 

To  complete  the  resemblance  to  the  Elysian  fields,  San  Yt^^^ 
cisco  is  still  graced  by  the  presence  of  many  retired  heroes  frb^ 
were  fortunate  enough  to  escape  the  martyrhood  of  the  baiter ' 

'  Quique  sui  memores  alios  fecere  merendo.' 
*    •  The  CuUfomiaiis.'    By  Walter  M.  Fisher.    LondoD,  1876. 


A  Ramble  round  the  World,  265 

*■  It  was  not  till  I  had  listened  to  these  modem  Eomuluses  that  I 
understood  the  foundation  of  Boine ;  the  ardent  passions  of  the  men 
who  marked  out  its  boundaries ;  who  laid  the  first  stone,  watered  bj 
the  hlood  of  a  brother ;  in  the  dailj  strifes  for  the  soil,  which  they 
fought  for  with  each  other  as  much  as  with  the  wild  beasts.' 

An  excursion  to  the  'Big  Trees'  of  Mariposa  and  the  Yosemite 
•  Valley  has  become  so  much  the  fashion  at  San  Francisco,  that 
the  traveller  would  forfeit  all  character  for  spirit  and  enterprise 
if  he  shrank  from  the  expedition,  although  the  distance,  going 
and  returning,  is  440  miles,  the  mode  of  travelling  disagreeable, 
and  the  accommodation  bad.  The  Baron  joined  a  party  of 
excursionists  starting  under  the  conduct  of  Mr.  Coulter,  the 
Califomian  Cook. 

'  What  an  idea  of  a  party  of  pleasure !  Nevertheless  there  is  some 
^  in  it.  There  are  three  or  four  grave  and  silent  Yankees,  with  their 
^ives;  but  there  is  a  large  family  party  from  Omaha,  who  form  the 
iH>i8y  element; — a  young  lady,  the  very  type  of  the  "  fast  girl "  of  the 
P^od,  with  a  lot  of  young  men,  her  brother  and  his  friends,  all 
** swells"  of  the  Far^West.  There  are  also  a  father  and  mother,  but 
^ey  are  only  accessories.' 

His  powers  of  description  are  displayed  to  advantage  on  the 
^^*^,  but  we  must  come  at  once  to  the  object  of  the  journey,  the 
^ig  Trees : 

'  There  are  more  than  four  hundred,  which,  thanks  to  a  diameter 

^f  more  than  30  feet,  to  a  circumference  of  more  than  90  feet,  and 

^  height  of  about  or  more    than  800  feet,  are  honoured  with  the 

appellation  of  the  Big  Trees,     Some  of  them  have  lost  their  crown, 

^  been  in  part  destroyed  by  fire,  that  scourge  of  Califomian  forests. 

^^hers,  overthrown  by  tempests,  are  lying  prostrate  on  the  soil,  and 

^^  already  covered  with  those  parasitic  creeping  plants  which  are 

^^er  ready  to  crop  up  round  these  giant  corpses.     One  of  these  huge 

*^^Uow  trunks  makes  a  natural  tunneL     We  rode  through  it  in  all  its 

'^^^gth   on  horseback  without  lowering  our   heads.     Another,  still 

^^^nding  and  green,  permits  a  horseman  to  enter  it,  turn  round,  and 

^?ont  of  it  by  the  same  opening.     These  two  trees  form  the  great 

**'**^'ion  of  the  tourists.' 


The  ground  on  which  they  stand,  8000  feet  above  the  level 
^^  the  sea,  is  a  deep  hollow  of  the  mountains,  covered  with  a 
^xclc  virgin  forest.  They  were  discovered  in  1855,  and  a 
^^  has  been  passed  for  their  protection.  The  discoverer,  an 
T'^glishman,  gave  them  the  name  of  '  Wellingtonia,'  by  which 
^^y  are  known  in  Europe,  but  the  Americans  have  christened 
•^eni  *  Sequoia  gigantca,'  after  an  Indian  chief  who  had  been 
^^«id  to  the  whites. 

An  accomplished  traveller  who  preceded  Baron  de  Hiibner 

in 


266  A  Ramhk  round  the  World. 

in  1867,  states,  on  the  authority  of  a  scientific  Commission,  tbat 
the  trees  are  612  in  number,  almost  in  one  clump,  and  that  ^fclie 
largest,  the  '  Grizzly,'  is  36  feet  in  diameter  and  360  feet  hi^fa^ 
20  feet  higher  than  St.  Paul's.  The  first  branch  is  230  feet  from 
the  ground.  * 

Twenty  miles  from  the  '  Big  Trees '  is  the  Yosemite  Valley, 
which  has  been  bought  by  the  Californian  Legislature  to  exclude 
the  miners  and  preserve  unsullied  the  primitive  beauty  of  the 
spot.  These  sacrifices  to  taste  should  be  remembered  when  the 
Americans  are  twitted  with  an  exclusive  devotion  to  dollars  and 
cents. 

What  struck  the  Baron  most  in  the  Yosemite  Valley  were  the 
rocks ;  the  classic  simplicity  of  their  shapes  contrasting  with 
their  enormous  size  as  they  rise  all  in  one  piece  from  the  depth* 
of  the  gorge  up  to  the  sky. 

*  It  is  said  that  iu  order  to  appreciate  the  grandeur  of  the  nav^ 
and  cupola  of  St.  Peter's  at  Eome,  you  must  see  them  many  tim^^ 
Here  the  traveller  foels  just  the  same.  Nature,  good  aiohitect  maoA 
good  gardener,  has  choson  to  put  such  harmony  in  the  pioportioa^ 
of  this  landscape,  that  it  is  less  by  the  eyes  than  by  calculating 
heights  and  distances  that  one  is  enabled  to  take  it  in.  jB^t 
having  done  so,  one  is  filled  with  astonishment,  with  admiration^ 
with  respect  for  the  powerful  Hand  which,  in  modelling  these  rock^ 
has  stamped  upon  them  the  impress  of  its  grandeur.' 

Social  equality  in  this  district  is  pushed  to  such  an  extrei**^ 
that  it  becomes  inequality.  The  recognised  etiquette  is  for  tb^ 
attendants  of  all  sorts,  bullock-drivers  and  grooms  inclusive^  ^^ 
take  their  meals,  at  the  same  table,  off  the  same  dishes. 

'  We  are  called  again  at  four  o'clock.     The  farm  servants  and  o«*^ 
coachmen  breakfast  first,  as  usual.     Behind  the  chair  of  each  of  **|^ 
servants  a  traveller  is  patiently  standing;  ho  is  watching  for  *^^^ 
moment  when  the  place  ^vill  be  free  and  he  can  take  possession  of  ^ 
After  the  servants  have  finished  their  breakfast  quite  at  their  eaa^^     ^ 
and  they  take  tbeir  time  about  it — one  of  the  coachmen  gets  up  a^^  ^ 
turning  rouud  to  us,  says,  brutally :  "  Now,  cat  fast."    Another  ad^^^*^ 
*'  We'll  give  you  ten  minutes.     Those  who  are  not  ready  then  will 
left  behind." ' 

On  July  1st,  the  Baron  leaves  the  pier  of  the  Pacific  ]Vt^^  . 
Company  in  one  of  their  steamers  for  Japan.     It  is  a  voyage  ^^ 


*  *  l*ekin,  Jeddo,  and  San  Francisct).   The  conclusion  of  "  A  Voyage  round 
"World."    By  the  Marquis  de  Bcauvoir.    Transluted  from  tlio  French  by 
and  Helen  Stephenson,  with  fifteen  engravings  from  photographs.  London,  __    . 
The  entire  voyage  is  comi)rised  in  three  volumes.    It  was  made  in  on  ^'PP*'*^^ 
direction  from'  Baron  de  Hiibner's,  and  begins  with  Australia,  which  occnpiefl  f 
whole  of  the  first  volume. 


A  Ramble  round  the  World.  26T 

five  thousand  miles  without  a  break,  but  its  duration,  owing  to 

the  normal  calmness  of  the  sea,  can  be  calculated  to  a  nicety, 

and  *on  the  24th  July,  a  little  after  nine  a.m.,  exactly  as  we  had 

been  promised   at  San  Francisco,  we  step  on  the  mysterious 

shores  of  the  "  Empire  of  the  Rising  Sun."  '     Having  recently 

deroted  an  article  to  ^  Japan,  as  It  was  and  is,'  *  we  shall  be 

comparatively  brief  in  our  notice  of  the  chapters  of  the  Baron's 

work  relating  to  it,  replete  as  they  are  with  valuable  information 

and  suggestive  remarks.      We   shall   limit  ourselves  to  some 

passages  in  which  he  depicts  with  his  wonted  force  and  vivacity 

the  most  remarkable  customs  and  institutions ;  which  it  may 

he  useful  to  fix  because  everything  in  Japan  is  in  a  transition 

state.    So  rapid  have  been  the  changes,  that  reforms  which  hardly 

three  years  since  struck  us  as  revolutionary  and  unsafe,  have 

since  been  quietly  and  efficiently  completed. 

Others  equally  sweeping  are  in  progress.     Take,  for  example, 

Ae  short  work  that  has  been  made  with  the  landed  aristocracy, 

^ho,  in  Old  Japan,  the  Japan  of  twenty  years  since,  were  as 

powerful  as  the  English  Barons  under  the  Plantagenets  or  the- 

gi'eat  French  nobles  till  Richelieu  took  them  in  hand.     They 

consisted   of  260   great  feudatories  or  chiefs  of  clans,   named 

dsimios,  with  bands  of  armed   retainers,  varying  from  200  to- 

*W0,    attached   to  them  by  ties  even  stricter  than  those  that 

|p>nnd   Evan   Dhu    to    Fergus   M'lvor   or    the    Campbells    ta 

•'•^*Callummore.     The   notions   of  duty   which   actuated    these 

^^Uy  1  and   the   resulting    lawlessness,    may   be   collected    from 

Jhe   legend   of  '  The  Forty-seven   Ronins,'   for   which  we  are 

indebted  to  the  graceful  pen  of  Mr.  Mitford.f 

Passing  over  the  introductory  details  we  come  to  the  scene 

J^hich  is  the  main  cause  of  the  catastrophe.     A  daimio,  named 

^aknmi  no  Kami,  having  been  insulted   in  the  palace  of  the 

•y^ikado  by  another  daimio,  named  Kotsuke  no  Suke,  drew  his 

^SlgCT   and   was   with   difficulty   prevented   from    killing   the 

^88rx*essor,  who  escaped  with  a  wound.     Takumi  was  arrested^ 

^^cl  by  the  imperial  council,  and  condemned  to  perform  hara 

.^9  i*e.  to  commit  suicide  by  disembowelling.     This  sentence 

I  '^^olved  all  the  consequences  of  an  attainder.    '  Such  was  the 

^^-      So  Takumi  performed  hara  hiri ;  his  castle  of  Ako  was 

l»  The  *  Quarterly  Review '  for  July,  1874.  When  this  article  was  written,  only 
^T^  ^nt  yolnme  of  Mr.  Adam's  *  History  of  Japan '  had  appeared.  The  second 
j^*tinj©  ^1^8  published  in  1876,  bringing  down  the  regular  history  to  1871,  and 
^^Uding  occurrences  of  a  more  recent  date. 

jt*  Tales  of  Old  Japan.'  By  A.  B.  Mitford,  Second  Secretary  to  the  British 
r^^S^tioQ  in  Japan.  In  Two  Volumes.  With  Illustrations  drawn  and  cut  on- 
^*^<^  by  Japanese  Artists.    London,  1871. 

confiscated^ 


268  A  Ramble  round  the  World. 

confiscated,  and  his  retainers  having  become  Rdnins,*  some  of 
them  took  service  with  other  daimios  and  others  became 
merchants.'  Forty-seven  of  these,  including  Oisbe  Kuranosoke 
who  acts  as  their  chief,  form  a  league  to  avenge  their  deoeued 
lord  and  restore  the  honour  of  his  house  by  inflicting  exemplary 
vengeance  on  Kotsuke.  By  a  series  of  stratagems,  involving 
an  extraordinary  amount  of  endurance  and  self-sacrifice,  they 
succeed  in  throwing  their  intended  victim  off  his  guard,  and  on  a 
cold  night  in  mid-winter  they  arrive  unsuspected  before  his  casde. 
The  high  sense  of  honour  which  actuated  them  was  shown  b] 
the  message  which  they  sent  to  the  neighbouring  houses : 

'  Wo,  the  Bonins,  who  were  formerly  in  the  service  of  Abiii< 
Takumi  no  Kami,  are  this  night  about  to  break  into  the  palace  o 
Kotsuke  no  Suke,  to  avenge  our  lord.  As  we  are  neither  nif^i 
robbers  nor  ruffians,  no  hurt  will  be  done  to  the  neighbouring  hooaei 
We  pray  you  to  set  your  miuds  at  ease.' 

An  animated  picture  is  given  of  the  assault,  which  is  as  feitil 
of  romantic  episodes  as  the  storming  of  Front  de  BoeuTs  casti 
in  'Ivanhoe.'  The  place  is  taken  after  a  desperate  defend 
and  Kotsuke,  a  noble-looking  man,  sixty  years  of  age,  draped  i 
a  white  satin  sleeping  robe,  is  dragged  from  a  place  of  concea 
ment  into  the  presence  of  the  Ronin  leader,  who  drops  on  h: 
knees  before  him,  and  after  explaining  the  purpose  of  the 
coming  in  the  most  respectful  terms,  concludes :  *  I  pray  yei 
lordship  to  acknowledge  the  justice  of  our  purpose.  And,  nov 
my  lord,  we  beseech  you  to  perform  hara  hiri.  I  myself  Ab 
have  the  honour  to  act  as  your  second,  <ind  when  with  a 
humility,  I  shall  have  received  your  lordship's  head,  it  is  ic 
intention  to  lay  it  as  an  offering  upon  the  grave  of  Asai 
Takumi  no  Kami.' 

Kotsuke,  we  shame  to  say  it,  was  unequal  to  the  part,  t 
could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  die  with  dignity,  to  die  tl 
ileath  of  a  noble  ;  and  after  courtesy  had  been  pushed  to  tl 
utmost  limits,  and  every  topic  of  persuasion  exhausted,  the  Ron: 
chief  threw  him  down  and  cut  off  his  head  with  the  san 
dagger  with  which  their  deceased  lord  had  disemboweUi 
himself.  They  then  went  their  way  rejoicing,  carrying  the  hea 
in  a  bucket,  till  they  came  to  the  monastery  in  which  Taknc 
no  Kami  was  buried.  After  laying  it  on  the  tomb,  Knr 
nosukc  gave  all  the  money  he  possessed  to  the  abbot,  and  sai< 
*  When  we  forty-seven  men  shall  have  performed  hcara  ktri^ 
beg  you  to  bury  us  decently  ;  I  rely  upon  your  kindness*    Tb 

*  Ronin,  literally  '  wave  man/  means  a  person  entitled  to  bear  arma,  irbo  h 
1)cen  released  from  or  thrown  off  the  feudal  tie,  and  is  (so  to  speak)  'i^ontt 
loose.' 


li 


A  Ramble  round  the  World.  26i> 

is  but  a .  trifle  I  have  to  offer,  such  as  it  is,  let  it  be  spent  in 
masses  for  our  souls.'  The  performance  of  this  operation  on 
their  part  was  not  altogether  optional,  as  they  were  formally 
condemned  for  murder ;  but  they  one  and  all  met  their  self-in- 
flicted death  nobly;  their  corpses  were  buried  in  front  of  the 
tomb  of  their  lord  ;  ^  and  when  the  fame  of  this  became  noised 
abitNkd,  the  people  flocked  to  pray  at  the  graves  of  these  faithful . 
men. 

This  legend  dates  from  1727.  It  rested  on  oral  traditions 
or  popular  tales,  scattered  and  varying,  till  Mr.  Mitford  reduced 
them  into  artistic  form  and  consistency.  But  the  principal  facts 
ue  historical.  The  tombs  are  one  of  the  lions  of  Yedo.  In 
the  written  justification  (still  extant)  found  on  their  bodies,  they 
quote  a  precept  of  Confucius :  ^  Thou  shalt  not  live  under  the 
nme  sky  nor  tread  the  same  earth  as  the  enemy  of  thy  father  or 
thj  lord.'  *  How,'  they  ask,  '  could  we  read  this  verse  without 
blushing?'— 

'Only  three  years  ago  (remarks  the  Baron),  a  man,  after  having 

l^yed  before  the  tomb  of  young  Chikara,  the  son  of  Euranosuk^, 

^iseiabowelled  himself.     The  wound  not  being  mortal,  he  cut  his 

^^^1^.    Why?    A  paper  found  on  his  body  declared  that  he  was  a 

'^n  who  had  wished  to  enter  the  dan  of  the  Prince  de  Ghdshiu ; 

wftt  Ins  petition  had  been  refused;   that  he  would  not  serve  any 

p^^  master ;  and  that  he  had,  in  consequence,  come  to  die  and  bo 

""ried  by  the  graves  of  the  brave.    This  was  in  1868.    How,  after 

^^    &ct8  as  these,  can  one  believe  that  the  historic  constitution  of 

country,  which  is  the  growth  of  centuries,  can  suddenly  fall  into 

''^'^  ? — that  all  the  feelings  and  ideas  which  form  its  groundwork 

^    xis  moral  basis  have  vanished,  and  that,  with  a  few  decrees  on 

'^^^iMbper  ^  on  changera  tout  cela^**  as  Moli^re's  M^decin  exclaims  ? ' 

^  this  historic  constitution  was  in  process  of  dissolution 
'^Xm  the  Baron  was  deprecating  its  fall.  Witness  his  own 
'^J^tion  by  the  Mikado,  the  omnipotent  and  infallible,  who 
^^  to  live  secluded  from  the  gaze  of  even  his  own  subjects,. 
^^  the  Lama  of  Thibet.  This  transcendental  personage 
**^Xutely  condescended  to  ask  advice  from  a  foreigpier,  whose 
'y  presence  within  the  sacred  precincts  of  the  palace  was  a 
"^^^nation  by  the  laws,  religion,  and  customs  of  Old  Japan : 

'  *^  I  hear,"  he  said,  "  that,  for  a  long  time,  you  have  filled  im- 
^''^^nt  positions  in  your  own  country,  and  that  you  have  exercised 
bo  office  of  ambassador  on  several  occasions.  I  do  not  exactly 
^^mtand  what  has  been  the  nature  of  your  occupations.  If,  £ronL 
^  resoltB  of  your  experience,  you  have  learned  things  which  it 
^*<nild  be  useful  for  me  to  know,  I  beg  of  you  to  speak  without  reserve 
to  my  principal  counsellors." ' 

In 


.270  A  Ramble  round  the  World. 

In  accordance  with  etiquette,  the  Mikado  only  murmured  tli.^^ 
words  between  his  teeth,  emitting  almost  inarticulate  soaift.c9.j 
These  were  repeated  by  a  high  official  and  translated  bj  ^th^ 
dragoman.  The  Baron  made  a  reply,  settled  beforehand^  Ib 
which,  after  expressing  the  highest  confidence  in  his  Majesty's 
Ministers,  he  hazarded  a  hope  that  they  would  proceed  with  ci]> 
cumspection,  and  bear  in  mind  that  many  things  which  BXt 
good  in  Europe  may  not  prove  so  in  Japan. 

*  I  do  not  think  I  shall  over  forget  the  scene  of  this  morning :  thai 
fairy-like  garden ;  those  mysterious  pavilions ;  those  grove  staiegmen 
in  their  gorgeous  court  dresses,  walking  about  with  ns  in  the  shrab- 
beries  of  those  beautiful  pleasure-grouuds,  and  that  oriental  potantate 
who  presents  himself  like  an  idol,  and  who  believes  and  feels  himsetf 
to  be  a  god.' 

On  conversing  with  the  counsellors  to  whom  he  was  refenedy 
he  found  that  they  had  already  abolished  the  feudal  rights  of 
the  daimios  and  hsid  formed  a  plan  for  disarming  the  samnraiSy 
the  class  of  feudal  retainers  whose  distinctive  privilege  it  was  to 
wear  two  swords,  which  they  were  in  the  habit  of  using,  witb^ 
or  without  provocation,  in  a  way  to  create  a  general  feeling  oi 
insecurity.  All  the  murderous  assaults  on  members  of  th^ 
British  Embassy  were  committed  by  these  two-sworded  gentiyy 
and  Baron  de  Hiibner  had  a  narrow  escape  in  a  chance  en^ 
counter  with  three  of  them. 

'  It  is  always  the  same  story.  Two  samurais  drink  together  in  ^ 
tea-house.  They  begin  talking  of  the  foreigners.  One  gets  exoiteA 
and  says,  "  I  am  quite  determined  to  kill  one  of  them."  Ajuother  get0 
up  and  cries,  "  I'm  your  man — we'll  go  together."  They  go  out  snA 
with  their  swords,  which  are  as  sharp  as  razors,  they  cut  in  pieces  tk^ 
first  white  man  they  may  chance  to  meet.  They  do  not  for  a  momen.'fc 
forget  that  their  own  lives  will  be  forfeited  by  the  act.  They  msk^ 
up  their  minds  beforehand  to  sacrifice  them.' 


It  seemed  likely  at  one  time  that  the  samurais  could  only 
disarmed  or  suppressed  by  some  such  summary  measures 
were  taken  with  the  Janissaries,  but  the  desired  result 
effectually  brought  about  by  the  commutation  of  their  heieditsry 
pay  or  pensions,  followed  by  an  edict  authorising  them  to  k^ 
aside  their  swords,  of  which  they  readily  took  advantage  iii"^ 
joined  the  regular  army  or  sank  into  ordinary  citizens.  I*^ 
fact,  fashion,  public  opinion,  and  the  new  order  of  things  haX^ 
set  in  with  a  force  against  which  they  found  it  impossible  t^^ 
stand  out.* 

♦  AdaiuB,  vol.  ii.  p.  285.  The  rcctnt  insurrections  of  the  disestibliih^^ 
Sftmumis  ami  others  apixjar  to  have  been  easily  suppressed.  (The  *  Times.'  Dec  J^» 
1876.)  ^ 


A  Ramble  round  the  World.  271 

It  was  mainly  by  the  assertion  of  the  supreme  authority  of  the 
ikado  that  so  many  radical  changes  were  effected  ;  and  not 
uiy  years  since  the  Mikado  was  little  better  than  a  myth.  He 
IS  regarded  as  the  spiritual  head,  with  no  more  temporal 
►wer  over  the  empire  than  was  held  by  the  Pope  beyond 
e  secular  dominion  of  the  Church.  Lord  Elgin  treated  with 
e  Siogun,  a  kind  of  hereditary  Mayor  of  the  Palace,  who, 
ith  the  feudal  aristocracy,  really  governed  the  country  ;  and 
r  Rutherford  Alcock  entitles  his  valuable  work  ^  The  Capital 
the  Tycoon,'  *  this  being  a  title  signifying  sovereignty,  which 
e  Siogun  had  assumed  to  throw  dust  in  the  eyes  of  the  French 
d  English  plenipotentiaries,  whose  involuntary  error  in  mis- 
king  the  vassal  for  the  lord  hastened  his  downfall  by  rallying 
and  the  adverse  standard  all  who  hated  or  feared  the  foreigner, 
seming  this  an  insufficient  cause  for  so  sudden  a  downfall, 
uron  de  Hiibner  did  his  best  to  discover  a  more  satisfactory 
e. 

'  On  this  capital  point,  as  on  so  many  others,  one  is  reduced  to  con- 
imes.  Iwaknra  alone  (the  Secretary  for  Foreign  Affidrs),  to 
lovn  I  ventured  to  address  the  question,  gave  me  a  clear  and  precise 
swer:  "The  Sioguns,"  he  said,  "were  detested  by  the  Japanese 
ticn,  who  are  full  of  loyalty  and  affection  for  its  legitimate  sove- 
S>K  the  Hikado."  "  But  how  does  it  happen,  then,  that  the  Japanese 
^on,  so  fall  of  attachment  to  the  emperor,  has  borne  with  these 
xxpere  for  seven  centuries;  and  why  has  their  long  dormant 
"^Hiy  80  suddenly  woke  up  into  life?"  To  this  question  he 
d«  no  answer  whatever.' 

^jnongst  the  many  marked  symptoms  of  growing  liberality 
tier  the  new  regime  is  the  unchecked  circulation,  in  1871,  of 
iFapanese  pamphlet  strongly  advocating  the  introduction  of 
»x-istianity.t  Its  favourable  reception,  however,  will  appear 
s  surprising  if  we  reflect  that  the  Japanese  mind,  rushing 
Ym  one  extreme  to  another,  is  beginning  to  resemble  the 
&«ich  mind  immediately  prior  to  the  revolution  of  1789,  and 
L'^  the  national  religion  has  been  long  regarded  by  the  culti- 
^^sd  class  much  as  the  classical  mythology  was  regarded  by 
r  wits,  philosophers,  and  fine  gentlemen  of  Greece  and  Rome. 
tiL^n  Confucius  was  questioned  by  one  of  his  disciples  about 
^  other  world,  the  sage  made  answer :  *  I  have  never  been 
^xie,  so  I  know  nothing  about  it.'  Such,  remarks  the  Baron, 
tlie  faith  of  the  present  Privy  Council  of  the  Mikado : — 

'  ^Seligion  is  at  a  low  ebb.  None  but  women  and  old  men  go  out 
^beir  houses  morning  and  evening,  at  sunrise  and  sunset,  to  adore 

*  The  Capital  of  the  Tycoon :  A  Narrative  of  Three  Years*  Residence  in 
»*ii.'    In  2  vols.    1863.  t  Adams,  vol  ii.  p.  301. 

the 


274  A  Ramble  round  the  World. 

too  little.    The  Eoglisb  exclaim :  "  Onr  codsuI  meddles  in  eyi 
thing ; "  the  French,  '*  Our  consul  cares  for  nothing." ' 

M.  Taine  contrasts  the  confusion  and  disorder  which  foll» 
the  overthrow  of  a  constitution  or  the  downfall  of  a  djrnastj  i  :ii 
France  with  what  he  thinks  would  have  been  the  self-possessiozt 
of  the  English  if  the  Gunpowder  Plot  had  met  with  plenary 
success.  '  Only  the  peak  of  the  Government  would  have  been 
carried  off;  the  rest  would  have  remained  intax^t;  the  explode-d 
peers  and  members  would  have  been  speedily  replaced.'  Baron 
de  Hiibner  would  agree  with  M.  Taine : — 

'  Withdraw  these  officials,  take  away  the  French  flag,  recall  the 
French  ships  in  the  harbour,  and  I  would  bet  you  ten  to  one  that  in 
a  few  years  the  whole  establishment  will  have  disappeared.  In  flan 
Englii^  factory  things  would  be  quite  different.  After  the  dep6rtiLr« 
of  their  consul  and  of  the  Queen's  troops,  the  residents  would  s^t 
about  at  once  maintaining  order,  and,  if  necessary,  organising  * 
defence  against  an  external  enemy.' 

But  here  his  praise  of  us  as  colonisers  stops  short  I' 
colonisation  consists  in  carrying  civilisation  into  the  heart  €>t 
the  native  population  of  the  territory  you  occupy,  then,  b>^ 
contends,  the  Portuguese  and  Spaniards  of  the  sixteenth  aii<l 
seventeenth  century  deserve  to  be  esteemed  the  first  coloniser^ 
upon  earth. 

'  Thus,  see  the  results.  Wherever  the  Spaniards  have  reigned  ir^ 
find  Indian  tribes  who  have  embraced  Christianity,  and  adopted,  in  J^ 
certain  measure,  our  habits  and  ideas.  The  greater  part  of  the  pdi^ 
ticians  whom  we  now  see  at  the  head  of  their  republics  are  of  Indian^ 
origin.  I  have  had  pure  Bed-skins  as  colleagues ;  and  I  have  seeXB. 
ladies  of  the  same  colour,  dressed  by  Worth,  delighting  in  Patti'^ 
roulades.  I  do  not  quote  these  personages  as  models  of  statesmen;  o^ 
these  fair  critics  as  great  authorities  in  music  ;  but  the  fact  is  n(nO 
the  less  significant.  Well,  this  is  the  work  of  Spanish  colonisalioi** 
Can  one  say  the  same  thing  of  the  effect  of  English  emigratioa  ? 
Evidently  not.  I  set  aside  all  question  of  India,  which  I  ha?e  not 
yet  visited.  But  everywhere,  especially  in  North  America,  tt*^ 
contact  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  with  semi-barbarous  savages  is  &t^ 
to  the  latter.  They  only  adopt  European  vices ;  they  hate  and  By 
from  us,  and  that  is  the  wisest  thing  they  can  do ;  or  else  they  perisb 
miserably.  In  every  way  they  remain  what  they  have  always  been— ' 
savages.  But  what  is  the  use  of  discussing  the  comparative  metiiB.oS 
different  nations  ?    Bather  let  us  render  to  each  their  due.' 

There  is  great  use  in  discussing  the  comparative  merits  ot 

nations.     It  is  the  only  way  in  which  they  can  profit  by  th^ 

experience   or  example   of  each   other.     Nor   need   discuss^"* 

prevent  our  rendering  their  due  to  all. 

The 


A  Ramble  round  the  World.  275 

'he  Wall  of  China  impresses  him   less   than  the  walls  of 
in: 

fhe  walls  of  Pekin  are  fifty  or  sixty  feet  high ;  twenty,  forty,  and 
feet  wide ;  and  of  a  circumference  of  more  than  twenty  English 

3. 

«  «  «  «  « 

'ekin  is  like  a  great  camp  of  harharians  bivouacking  round  the 
of  their  chief,  and  sheltering  those  who  till  the  ground.  The 
A  protects  the  tiller  of  the  soil.  Ah !  it  is  indeed  Asia ;  and  I 
rstand  that,  in  the  imagination  of  the  people  of  the  high  central 
I  from  Ural  to  Kashgar,  from  Eiachta  to  Hindukush,  Shuntian 
in)  is  the  city  of  cities,  the  terrestrial  paradise,  the  centre  of  the 
i.  To  me  it  is  tho  type  of  the  ancient  cities  mentioned  in  the 
3.    It  is  Babel  or  Nineveh — grand,  heroic,  and  barbarous.' 

t  Pekin,  he  grapples  boldly  with  the  grand  question,  how  ta 
ncile  the  general  look  of  decay  with  the  qualities  and  dispo- 
n  of  the  Chinese,  whose  energy,  activity,  and  intelligence 
!  made  them  such  formidable  rivals  in  so  many  foreign 
ar  markets.  This  question  was  raised,  more  than  once, 
company  comprising  the  most  distinguished  members  of 
liplomatic  body  at  Pekin  and  others  who  had  enjoyed  the- 
opportunities  of  considering  it. 

This  decadence,"  I  asked,  '*  is  it  only  apparent,  or  is  it  real  ?  Is 
)  nation  or  only  the  dynasty  which  is  being  extinguished  ?" 
This  is  a  theme,"  they  answered,  *'  which  is  both  complex  and 
laostible.  China  is  a  country  of  contradictions.  The  ideas  of 
people  are  essentially  conservative.  Their  ways  of  thought, 
8,  dress — saving  some  insignificant  modifications — are  to-day 
they  were  a  thousand  or  a  couple  of  thousand  years  ago.  But 
lere  are  buildings  constructed  which  are  so  little  solid  or  durable. 
I  the  exception  of  a  pagoda  at — (the  name  escaped  me) — in  the 
nee  of  Eiang-si,  of  which  the  construction  goes  back  to  the 
I  century,  there  is  not  in  the  whole  empire  a  single  edifice  which 
m&  more  than  two  hundred  or  two  hundred  and  fifty  years. 
They  are  essentially  patriarchal ;  and  yet,  except  eight  or  nine 
ely  families,  they  have  no  hereditary  nobility.  On  the  contrary, 
obility  conferred  by  the  emperor  descends  one  degree  in  each 
ration,  and  finally  disappears.  The  son  of  a  marquis,  for  instance 
it  is,  of  a  man  whose  rank  corresponds  with  the  rank  of  a 
oiB  in  our  country  —will  be  an  earl ;  his  son,  again,  a  baron :  his 
Ison  will  have  no  title  at  all." ' 

lis  accounts  in  some  measure  for  the  absence  of  stability^ 
I  there  is  a  bureaucracy  whose  action  for  all  useful  pur- 
(  is  neutralised  by  forms.  All  their  offices  are  circumlocu- 
offices.  An  instance  is  given  in  which  the  Finance  Minister 
IS  by  writing  to  the  Finance  Minister,  i.e.,  himself.     But  the 

T  2  fount 


276  Tke  Kastcm  Question  and  the  Conference. 

fount  and  origin  of  all  the  evil  is  the  autocratic  central  xsed 
character  of  the  government  The  unanimous  opinion  oF  the 
Baron's  informants  was  thus  expressed  : 

'  The  trade  of  a  sovereign  is  no  sinecnro  in  China.    If  the  emperor 
takes  no  part  in  puhlic  affairs,  or  if  he  neglects  to  fulfil  his  dix'fcies, 
public  interests  suffer.     Thus,  look  at  Pokin  at  this  moment;     the 
streets  are  like  gutters,  the  streams  are  all  open,  the  flags  of  mairble, 
which  formerly  covered  them,  are  broken,  and  Uieir  scattered  places 
still  further  impede  the  circulation ;  the  temples  are  in  a  state  of  <iirt, 
which  would  bo  shocking  to  the  faithful,  if  the  faithful  ever  visited 
them;  the  public  buildings  are  in  the  most  deplorable  state;     and 
outside  the  capital,  the  canals,  those  great  arteries  of  the  country'^  are 
more  than  half  ruined ;  the  royal  roads  are  transformed  acoordui^  to 
the  season,  into  dried-up  torrents,  rivers,  or  marshes.     All  this  is  the 
result  of  the  last  two  reigns.     An  energetic,  active,  and  intelli^pont 
prince  would  put  all  this  to  rights,  and,  in  a  few  years,  do  away  botii 
with  the  effects  of  the  bad  government  of  his  predecessors,  and  the 
decadence  which  strikes  every  European,  but  wluch  does  not  soiprise 
the  natives.' 

The  (then)  reigning  emperor,  Tungclic,  eight  years  old  m 
1871,  died  in  1875,  and  was  succeeded  by  an  infant,  so  that  the 
traveller  may  still  exclaim  with  the  poet — 

'  Better  fifty  years  of  Europe  than  a  cycle  of  Cathay.' 

We  part  with  reluctance  from  this  book,  and  so  will  evcfy 
qualified  reader  who  takes  it  up.     The  tone,  spirit,  and  mode 
of  treatment  are  excellent    throughout     If  it   were   ever  out 
destiny  to  put  a  girdle  round  the  globe,  or  to  survey  mankiJ*d 
from  China  to  Peru,  we  should  desire  no  better  companioD  <^^ 
guide  than  the  author.     He  has  all  the  qualities  that  could  ^ 
required   in  a  fellow-traveller:  large  experience,  ample  kno^' 
ledge,  a  well-trained  intellect,  a  fertile  fancy,  animation,  ob**^' 
vation,  and  sagacity. 


Art.  IX. — 1.  Parliamentary  Papers.     Turkey,  1876. 

2.  A  Handy  Book  of  t/ie  Eastern  Question ;  being  a  very  retc 
View  of  Turkey.     By  Sir  George  Campbell,  M.P.     Lond^^^ 
1876. 

3.  Russia  before  Europe.     By  Alfred  Austin.     London,  1875-'   - 

4.  EnglaiuTs  Policy   in   the   East.     By   the   Baron  Henry       ^ 
Worms.     London,  1877. 


THE  '  Eastern  Question' — so  long  the  dread  of  wise  _ 
men  and  thinking  men — has  at  last  come  to  a  crisis,  ^^"^     • 


The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference,  'ill 

the  circumstances  most  favourable  to  those  whose  interest  it  has 
long  been  to  bring  about  the  catastrophe,  and  most  unfavourable 
to  those  who  desired  to  deal  with  the  question  peacefully,  and  to 
the  advantage  both  of  Europe  in  general  and  of  the  populations 
of  Turkey,  Mussulman  as  well  as  Christian.     During  a  breath- 
ing space  hardly  gained  from  the  Servian  war,  by  which  the 
setdement  of  1856  has  been  wantonly  disturbed,  and  amidst  the 
excitement  of  feeling  roused  by  the  insurrection  and  massacres 
in  Roumelia,  a  Conference  of  the  great  Powers,  to  whose  comity 
Turkey  was  formally  received  by  the  Peace  of  Paris,  has  met  at 
Constantinople.  The  invitation  was  given  by  the  Queen's  Govern- 
ment, in  accordance  with  the  one  aim  which  they  have  stead- 
fastly pursued,  of  using  every  diplomatic  means — at  such  times 
and  in  such  ways  as  offered  any  hope  of  success — for  the  restora- 
tion and  permanent  establishment  of  peace,  and  the  amelioration 
of  the  state  of  the  Christian  as  well  as  the  other  subjects  of  Turkey, 
on  the  basis  of  the  existing  settlement  of  Europe  and  the  dis- 
avowal of  all  designs  towards  territorial  aggrandisement ;  and 
this  invitation  was  distinctly  accepted  on  these  grounds  by  all 
the  Powers.    The  Plenipotentiaries  assembled  avowedly  to  confer 
on  equal  terms,  according  to  diplomatic  usage  and  international 
law  ;  but  really — if  we  may  believe  the  vaunt  of  the  enemies  of 
Turkey — ^to  impose  on  her  the  decision  of  the  allies,  with  whom 
she  Tanked  as  an  equal  among  equals.    By  the  7th  Article  of  the 
Treaty  of  Paris  the  sovereigns  of  France,  Austria,  Great  Britain, 
'Russia,  Russia,  and   Sardinia '  declare  the  Sublime  Porte  ad- 
mitted to   a   full   part   in    the   advantages  of  the  public    law 
and   concert    of   Europe  ;'    but,    as    if   with    equal    authority, 
^®  Russian  organs  now  informed  Turkey  that  *she  was  sum- 
^^tied,  not  to  discuss,  but  to  hear  the  will  of  Europe.'     Our 
"^^ers  know  but  too  well  how  this  sentiment  was  echoed  by  a 
l^*^on  of  the  English  press,  and  how  any  proposals  were  de- 
^*^rted  inadequate  unless   they  humiliated  Turkey — *  which  of 
^^^y'se  they   must,'  said  a   weekly  paper — and  '  superseded  her 
f^'^^reignty '  in  a  part  of  her  own  dominions.     Faster  than  the 
J^U^niey  of  the  Plenipotentiaries  to  Constantinople  was  the  march 
l/*    the  mobilised  Russian  hosts  towards  the  Pruth ;    and  long 
^^ore  the  envoys  of  peace  had  arrived,  the  Grand  Duke  Nicholas 
?     ^^vho  had  inherited  his  father's  spirit  with  his  name — started 
^  t^ike  the  chief  command,  with  the  blessing  of  the  Patriarch  of 
"^^^^cow  and  the  congratulations  of  the  Governor  on  the  opening 
*    *  his  military  achievements.'    Amidst  the  earnest  professions 
t^eace  and  friendship  for  England,  which  accompanied  these 
^^^^  the  Czar  insisted  with  equal  frankness  on  his  resolve  to 
^^^    alone  if  he  failed  to  obtain  his  demands  in  concert  with 


278  The  Eastern  Question  and  tlie  Conference. 

the  other  Powers ;  and  he  openly  assumed  the  leadership  of  the 
Slavonic  uprising^. 

We  pause  for  a  moment  in  this  brief  review  of  the  situation, 
to  note  two  Articles  of  the  Treaty  of  Paris,  which  is  still  thfe 
public  law  of  Europe,  binding  the  conduct  of.  all  its  signatarie^ 
both  towards  Turkey  and  towards  each  other  in   relation  to 
Turkey.      The    7th   Article,   partly   cited   above,   proceeds: — . 
^  Their  Majesties  engage,  each  on  his  own  part,  to  respect  the 
independence  and  territorial  integrity  of  the  Ottoman  Empire  ; 
they  guarantee  in  common  the  strict  observance  of  this  engage- 
ment, and  will  consequently  consider  every  act  of  a  nature  to 
infringe  upon  it  (a  y  porter  atteinte)  as  a  question  of  general 
interest.'     A  strict  observance  of  this  article  might  well  have 
summoned  Russia  to  *•  hear  the  will  of  Europe '  as  to  the  enter- 
prise— or  rather,  the  commission— of  *  our  volunteers '  in  Sen'ia, 
■especially  in  the  light  of  the  29th  Article : — *  No  armed  inte^ 
vention  can  take  place  in  Servia  without  previous  agreement 
between  the  high  contracting  Powers.' 

The  other  Article,  which  has  an  even  more  important  bearing 
on  the  circumstances  of  the  Conference,  is  the  8th :  *  If  there 
should  arise  between  the  Sublime  Porte  and  any  one  or  more  of 
the  other  signatary  Powers  a  disagreement  menacing  the  main- 
tenance of  their  relations,  the  Sublime  Porte  and  each  of  these 
Powers,  before  resorting  to  the  use  of  force,  shall  give  the  cihtr 
eontractinff  Poioers  an  ojyportunity  of  jireventinff  this  extremity  hf 
their  mediating  action,^  Now,  apart  from  the  other  obvioni 
bearings  of  this  article,  it  proves  the  perfect  consistency  of  the 
Conference  with  the  Treaty,  and  furnishes  a  decisive  answer  to 
the  insidious  plea,  that  our  Government,  in  assembling  the  Con- 
ference, have  themselves  made  a  breach  in  the  treaty,  which 
Russia  and  her  friends  may  cite  as  a  precedent  for  ^  tearing  it 
up.'  Here,  too,  is  the  remedy  provided  for  that  canstnuiioe 
breach  of  the  treaty,  of  which  Mr.  Gladstone  has  striven  hard  to 
convict  Turkey. 

While  Russia  was  thus  declaring  her  resolve  and  making  kf 
preparations  to  take  her  own  course,  encouraged  by  her  friendi 
in  England,  Turkey  at  the  same  time  responded  to  her  snw 
ments  and  prepared  to  anticipate  her  demands.  The  scpii*^ 
<leliberations  of  the  Plenipotentiaries  of  the  six  Powers-* 
diplomatic  innovation  justified  only  by  the  strong  neoessitjv 
the  case — went  on  while  Midhat  Pasha  put  the  fioishuf 
touches  to  his  Constitution  and  supplanted  the  honest  but  b* 
<laring  Rushdi  in  the  office  of  Grand  Vizier.  With  whiteW 
hope  for  Turkey  that  revolution  might  be  pregnant,  it  wii 
an  ill  omen  for  the  success  of  the  Conference,  when  at  iti  SbI 

meedig 

1 


Tlie  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference,  279 

the  reading  of  the  scheme  of  the  six  Powers  was 
ted  by  the  boom  of  the  guns  which  announced  the 
ation  of  the  Constitution  (December  23).  The  holy 
astide  opened  with  little  promise  of  *  peace  on  earth  ; ' 
New  Year's  Day  of  1877  saw  the  Turkish  members  of 
Terence  for  the  first  time  brought  really  face  to  face  with 
lands  of  their  colleagues.  The  exact  nature  of  those 
»,  the  spirit  in  which  they  have  been  framed  and  dis- 
the  manner  in  which  they  have  been  presented,  tfie 
a  they  have  met  with,  the  counter-proposals  of  the 
emd  the  consequent  modifications  of  the  programme, 
e  only  imperfectly  stated  in  the  absence  of  official 
its ;  but  the  result  will  probably  be  known  before  these 
ach  our  readers.  Even  should  the  Conference  break  up, 
lal  negociations  will  in  all  probability  be  continued,  not 
hope,  while  neither  of  the  two  parties  between  whom 
issue  lies  is  ready  for  war ;  just  as  the  diplomatic  con- 
at  Vienna  were  prolonged  in  1853,  even  after  Russia 
sed  the  Pruth.* 

interval  offers  one  more  opportunity  to  set  before  our 
i  calm  and  impartial  statement  of  the  questions  now  at 
le  causes  which  have  brought  on  the  crisis,  the  deep 
which  England  and  all  Europe  have  in  the  result,  and 
»rms — as  well  as  the  means  of  effecting  them,  of 
their  reality,  and  of  watching  over  their  execution — 
re  indispensable  if  the  Eastern  Question  is  to  be  satis- 
settled.  We  confidently  believe  that  the  suggestions 
ice  which  we  venture  to  offer  will  be  supported  by  those 
e  had  the  longest  experience  and  most  intimate  acquain- 
th  Turkey  and  its  inhabitants,  and  we  are  not  without 
lat  they  may  not  only  guide  the  public  in  forming  a 
opinion,  but  even  our  senators  and  statesmen  in  steering 
ure  course. 

ding  to  the  theories  of  a  modem  school  of  politicians,  the 
!  of  power '  is  an  exploded  delusion,  only  deserving  of 
t;  but  we  have  now  a  proof  of  the  wisdom  of  those 
n  who  devised  it  France,  deprived  of  the  position  and 
5  she  held  before  her  war  with  Germany,  is  no  longer 
ake  the  part  due  to  her  as  a  great  Power.  Germany  and 
are  equally  hampered  by  the  conviction  that  there  is  no 

ions  symptom  of  the  ignorance  of  the  hiBtory  of  the  Crimean  War, 
iiils  amidst  so  much  confident  discussion  of  its  policy,  is  furnished  by 
le,  often  repeated  even  by  some  leading  politicians,  that  the  war  began 
the  Bussians  crossed  the  Pruth.  The  river  was  crossed  by  (Jonoral 
Jaly  2ad ;  but  the  Porte  did  not  declare  war  till  October  5th. 

*  balance 


280  Tlie  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference, 

^  balance  of  power '  in  Europe — no  aid  or  ally  upon  whom  the^H?* 
can  surely  depend — and  by  the  fear  that  their  position  may  b  ^^ 
seriously  compromised  by  a  false  move ;  nay,  in  the  case  c^.  f 
Austria,  that  her  very  existence  might  be  at  stake.     EnglancS  ^ 
whose  ancient  foreign  policy,  founded  by  the  wisdom  and  ezp^sw 
rience  of  her  greatest  statesmen,  is  forsooth  to  be  reversed  1>^ 
a  passionate  and  illogical  outcry,  fomented  partly  by  honest 
partly  by  designing  persons,  scarcely  knows  where  to  turn  fi 
support  or  allies.     The  other  great  Powers,  believing  that  n.o 
truly   great   and   national    policy   can   be   considered  darabl^ 
which  depends  upon  an  outburst  of  popular  feeling,  cannot  tn&st 
England,  fearing  that  the  same  popular  feeling  may  demarm^ 
to-morrow  exactly  the  contrary  to  what  it  has  insisted  upon 
to-day.     They  hesitate,  therefore,  to  enter  into  any  permanex»t 
alliance  with  us  or  to  trust  our  policy. 

If  there  were  one  cardinal  principle  of  English  foreign  policj^y 
it  has  always  been  the  maintenance  of  Constantinople  and  tb^ 
Dardanelles  in  the  hands  of  a  Power  from  whose  hostility  sa^ 
ambition  li)ngland  had  nothing  to  fear.  We  support^  db^ 
Turks  because  they  were  there,  and  we  had  nothing  to  pat  xxi 
their  stead  which  would  be  equally  safe  and  advantageous  fo^ 
us,  or  for  the  peace  of  Europe  and  the  world.  The  only  oth^*" 
Power  that  could  possess  Constantinople  and  the  Dardanells^ 
was  Russia,  and  every  English  statesman,  and,  indeed,  erefT* 
true  Englishman  until  lately,  felt  instinctively  that  Russia  tX^ 
possession  of  that  ]K>st  would  be  the  greatest  danger  and  menace? 
to  England.  It  is  now  a  fashion  to  put  this  opinion  on  one  sid^ 
as  something  almost  too  ridiculous  to  deserve  serious  considerBr- 
tion  ;  but  the  very  emphasis  with  which  the  bare  assertion  ** 
made  betrays  that  consciousness  of  danger,  which  many  of  tb<^ 
agitators  admit,  while  professing  to  regard  it  as  but  remote  si*^ 
hypothetical.  This  question  will  be  dealt  with  presently,  and  tb^ 
reasons  and  grounds  on  which  the  real  English  view  is  founded* 
will  be  pointed  out. 

Meanwhile  it  is  absurd  to  accuse  any  serious  party  or  stat^** 
man  in  England  of  having  been  *  Turcophile ' — a  friend  of  ^* 
Turk  for  the  Turk's  sake.     It  is  easy  to  launch  this  accusati^*^ 
against  those  who  would  now  support   the   best   and    tigb^|\ 
interests  of  England    by  checking  the  dangerous  ambitioa     « 
Russia;    but   it    is   entirely  false.      Lord   Palmerston,  wh<?    J' 
denounced  by  some  as   the  chief  supporter   of  the   Turks     *^ 
recent  years,  was  no  more  a  '  Turcophile '  than  Mr.  GladstCF^  J 
It  has  been  confidently  stated  that  were  he  now  alive  he  wo»^*  ^ 
have  sided  with  Mr.  Gladstone.     This  we  can  with  equal  ^^    ^ 
fidence   deny.      Lord   Palmerston  was   too   great  and 


statesm^-^^ 


The  Efistern  Question  and  the  Conference,  281 

statesman,  too  jealous  of  the  honour  and  interests  of  England^ 
to  have  done  anything  of  the  kind.  He  would  have  con* 
demned,  with  all  the  earnestness  and  sincerity  of  Mr.  Glad- 
stone, the  atrocities  committed  by  Turkish  irregulars ;  but  he 
woold  not  have  allowed  them  to  have  disturbed  his  judgment,  or 
to  have  made  him  abandon  a  policy  founded,  not  upon  any  love 
for  the  Turks,  whose  misgovernment  and  evil-doings  no  man 
ever  more  sternly  and  more  effectually  denounced,  but  upon 
what  long  experience,  political  sagacity,  and  calm  reflection  had 
taught  him,  and  even  greater  men  than  him,  was  essential  to 
the  real  interests  of  his  country. 

The  great  problem  that  had  to  be  solved  was  this.    Every  one 

admitted  (except  perhaps  some  eccentric  individuals  who  may 

tterit  the  epithet  of  *  Turcophile ')  that  Turkish  rule  unreformed 

and  unchanged  would  become  an  anomaly  in  Europe,  and  could 

not  continue  to  exist  by  the  side  of  modem  civilisation  and 

inodero  government ;  that  that  rule  was  bad  and  corrupt ;  that 

the  dominant  race,  the  Ottomans,  had  privileges  and  claimed  a 

'^periority  that  was  hurtful  and  insulting  to  the  Christians  and 

others  whom  they  governed ;  that  the  race  itself  was  gradually 

losing  its  strength  and  power,  and  even  dying  out ;  and  that 

•ooner  or  later  it  would  probably  cease  to  exist  as  a  governing 

P^<>ple  in  Europe.    Who,  then,  was  to  take  the  Ottoman's  place  ? 

"ow  were  the  Christians  to  be  prepared,  so  as  to  be  able  to  take 

''P  their  inheritance  when  the  time  came  ?     Would  it  be  better 

^^  break  up  the  Ottoman  Empire  suddenly,  and  to  leave  Powers 

^thout  and  Christians  within  to  fight  and  to  scramble  for  its 

^^bris,*  the  strongest  getting  the  largest  share,  if  not  the  whole  ? 

^  would  it  not  rather  be  better  to  tolerate  the  present  state  of 

.^^^g»  for  some  time  yet,  to  allow  the  Ottoman  rule  to  expire  of 

***elfj  and  to  give  the  Christian  populations  time  and  opportunity 

^   iaiprove  themselves  by  education,  to  increase  in  wealth,  and 

-^    attain  the  political  and  social  influence  which  comes  from 

***^^cation    and   property— every   exertion    being   made   at    the 

?*^^e  time   to  induce  the  Turkish  Government  to  administer 

J'^^ly  and  impartially,  and  to  secure  to  the  Christian  as  good 

*^^  fair  treatment  as  possible?     The  first  of  these  courses  is 

!^^    has   been   the   policy  of  Russia ;  the  second  has   always 

^^ti  that  of  English  statesmen  like  Lord  Palmerston,  and  of 

p  ^*7  wise   and   foreseeing   European    statesman, — except   the 

H  *  hit  practical  alternative  should  be  borne  in  mind  when  unre- 
^^^^'^ng  and  ignorant  people  are  crying  out  that  the  Eastern 
^^^ition  must  not  be  *  patched  up,'  but  must  be  dealt  with 
^^^ToDgfaly  and  at  once.     What  does  this  mean,  unless  that  it  is 

better 


582  The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Coiiference, 

better  to  plunge  into  war,  to  sacrifice  tens  of  thousands  of  hnmaii 
•lives,  to  bring  utter  misery  upon  millions  of  human    beings 
to  create  general  confusion,  to  sow  the  seeds  of  future  wars,  if 
not  to  cause  an  instant  one,  in  the  vain  hope  of  accomplishing 
that  which  is   being   wrought   out   surely  and   peaceably  and. 
'effectively  by  time  and  patience.     This  denunciation  of  ^  patdi--^ 
ing  up '  is  as  mischievous  as  it  is  wicked.     Every  year  of  peao^! 
is  so  much  gained ;  renders  the  Christians  better  able  to  taki 
their  proper  place  when  the  time  comes ;  and,  what  is  of  infini 
importance,  removes  from  Europe  the  chance  of  a  universal  wi 
of  doubtful  issue. 

It  is  utterly  untrue  to  say  that  no  improvement  has  takezi 
place  in  Turkey,  that  the  Christians  are  as  much  oppressed  and 
.as   badly  governed   now  as  they  were  fifty  or  five-«nd-twentjr 
years  ago.     No  one  who  desires  to  be  honest  and  impartial  will 
venture  to  repeat  an  assertion,  the  quiet  taking  of  which  for 
granted,  and  its  perpetual  reiteration,  are  among  the  hundred 
proofs  of  that  ignorance  of  Turkish  history  during  the  last  twentjr 
years  and  more,  on  which  the  agitators  have  successfully  played. 
To  the  popular  mind  Aali  and  Fuad  arc  unknown  names,  and 
Midhat's   government   of  Bulgaria   as   if  it   had  never  been. 
Whether  a  much  greater  improvement  might  not  have  taken 
place  ?  whether  the  Turkish  Government  has  done  all  or  nearly 
all  that  it   ought  to  have  done?   whether  it  has  fulfilled  tte 
promises  and  hopes  given  to  Europe  after  the  Crimean  War?  are 
•other  questions.    But  no  one  really  acquainted  with  Turkey  and 
its  various  populations  will  deny  that  the  Christians  are  more 
wealthy ;    that  they  are  better  educated,   or  have  at  least  the 
means  of  education  more  within  their  reach  ;  that  their  lives  and 
property  are  better  protected,  than  twenty-five  years  ago,  and  that 
their  progress  has  been  sure  although  gradual.     The  number  o^ 
schools  stated    to   have   been    destroyed    and  of  schoolmasteT* 
massacred  in  Bulgaria,  proves  this  fact  beyond  a  question.     ^ 
very  few  years  ago  there  was  scarcely  a  school  in  Bulgari*' 
the  American  and  other   missionaries  had  not  penetrated  if^ 
that  almost  unknown  region ;  and  the  people  were  kept  by  "t^ 
•Greek  clergy  in  the  most  profound  and  brutal  ignorance.    'Th^^ 
gradual  progress  was  what  they  really  needed,  and  what  all  tf^ 
friends  of  Christians  and  even  of  Turks  desired.     As  to  weal"^ 
the  Turkish   revenue-returns   show  how  far  it   had   increa»^ 
amongst  the  Christians,  into  whose  hands  not  only  the  commer^^ 
■and  manufactures,  but  the  agriculture  of  the  country,  are  gradnalt^ 
passing.      These   are  facts  which  cannot  be  denied  ;   and  t 
very  appeal  for  a  new  policy,  on  the  ground  that  the  Christia 
■are  the  progressive  and  the  Turks  the  decaying  element  in  t 

Peninsn 


The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference.  283 

a,  testifies  to  the  compatibility  of  Christian  progress 
Oman  supremacy. 

tate  of  the  Christians,  no  doubt,  left  very  much  to  be 
Many  of  their  grievances  were  equally  shared  by  the 
lans,  and  were  the  result  of  bad  government,  the  cor- 
md  ignorance  of  the  governors  and  officials,  and  a  most 
[  system  of  administration.  There  were  others  which 
;uliar  to  the  Christians,  not  however  as  Christians,  but 
iect  race.  Their  lives  and  property  were  no  longer  com- 
t  the  mercy  of  their  Mussulman  rulers,  as  is  so  generally 
and  believed.  In  that  respect  a  great  change  had  taken 
[t  cannot  be  too  often  repeated,  in  arguing  with  men 
willing  to  deal  with  this  question  dispassionately 
I  a  desire  to  get  at  the  real  truth,  that  the  Bulgarian 
!8  were  an  exceptional  occurrence.  There  can  be  no 
ad  proof  of  the  fact  can  be  furnished  to  any  extent,  that 
e  a  brutal  and  horrible  revenge  for  acts  first  committed 
stians,  partly  arising  out  of  fear  or  panic.  The  con- 
bmented  by  revolutionary  agents  is  now  as  fully  attested 
Schuyler's  final  report  as  it  was  by  Mr.  Baring.  This 
stification  of  those  execrable  deeds,  and  the  condem- 
»y  all  Europe  of  those  who  permitted  them  by  their 
e  or  by  their  complicity  has  been  swift  and  merited, 
is,  or  ought  to  be,  a  question  apart  from  all  discus- 
permanent  policy.  The  fact  is,  that  the  ruling  or 
ig  power  and  classes  of  Turkey  no  longer  dealt  with 
and  property  of  Christians  as  they  had  formerly  been 
deal  with  them.  Any  one  really  acquainted  with  the 
[  present  history  and  condition  of  Turkey  must  admit 

0  impartial  Christian  in  Turkey,  who  knew  the  state 

1  his  forefathers  lived,  would  deny  it  The  grievances 
I  the  Christians  have  really  just  cause  to  complain  can 
medied,  and,  if  proper  means  were  employed,  could  be 
without  any  great  or  serious  disturbance  of  the  political 
Eastern  Europe.  Such  for  instance  are  their  inequality 
ihammedans  before  the  law,  and  the  rejection  of  their 
in  Mussulman  courts  and  against  Mussulmans.  This  had 
>een  remedied  to  some  extent  by  the  admission  of  their 
y  in  commercial  and  some  other  courts.  The  ignorance 
subject  of  those  who  have  recently  been  taking  part  in 
i-Turkish'  movement  is  as  profound  as  it  is  culpable 
rho  pretend  to  authority  in  dealing  with  the  question.  It 

been  stated  by  them  that  Christians  cannot  hold  land 
y,  which  is  untrue ;  and  that  they  are  compelled  to  wear 

degrading 


284  The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference. 

degrading  badges  to  distinguish  them  from  Mussulmans,  wl 
is  equally  false. 

No  better  proof  can  be  offered  of  the  ignorance  to  wl 
allusion  has  been  made,  and  of  the  difficulty  of  dealing  ^ 
the  condition  of  the  Turkish  Christians,  than  the  two  idle 
grievances,  which  have  been  so  frequently  and  energetic 
denounced  by  English  writers  and  speakers — their  exclu: 
from  the  army,  and  the  collection  of  taxes  in  kind.  F 
Pasha,  who,  notwithstanding  his  ^anti-human'  origin,  W! 
wise  and  liberal-minded  statesman,  was  anxious  to  extend 
conscription  to  the  Christians,  and  to  make  them  serve  in 
army.  He  had  prepared  a  measure  to  that  effect.  It  prodi 
the  utmost  alarm  amongst  the  Christians  themselves, 
foreign  embassies  and  legations  at  Constantinople  were  assa 
with  petitions  against  the  proposal.  The  pressure  brought  to  I 
on  the  Porte  from  all  sides,  foreign  as  well  as  internal,  cai 
the  abandonment  of  the  measure,  and  the  Christians  agreed, , 
fully  and  eagerly,  to  pay  a  comparatively  small  exemption 
What  has  been  the  result  ?  Whilst  the  Mussulman  races  1 
been  exposed  to  the  greatest  hardships  and  sufferings  from 
-conscription,  and  have  been  'very  materially  reduced  in  num 
and  weakened  thereby,  the  Christians  by  being  exempted  fro 
have  increased  in  numbers  and  wealth,  and  have  been  sparei 
its  terrible  consequences.  No  one  will  be  inclined  to  dispute 
to  serve  in  the  national  army,  and  to  be  placed  in  this  res 
on  the  same  footing  as  their  Mussulman  fellow-subjects,  oi 
to  elevate  the  Christians,  to  place  them  on  an  equality  with 
Mohammedans,  and  to  improve  their  prospects  and  condi 
generally,  besides  having  a  tendency  to  remove  prejudices 
hatreds  between  opposite  creeds ;  but  it  may  be  doubted  whc 
the  Christians  of  the  East  would  thank  their  English  fri( 
and  sympathisers  for  obtaining  for  them  a  privilege  or  r 
which,  however  valuable  and  conducive  to  their  dignity,  1 
would  rather  renounce  than  enjoy. 

As  regards  the  payment  of  taxes  in  kind  the  same  ma; 
said.  From  time  immemorial  in  the  East  the  tithe  of  the  1 
has  been  collected  in  kind.  Every  European  economist  i 
no  doubt,  condemn  the  system  as  barbarous,  as  equally  injur 
to  the  Government  and  to  the  landholders  and  the  cultivatoi 
the  soil.  Fuad  Pasha  and  other  Turkish  statesmen  wishe< 
abolish  the  practice ;  but  they  met  with  the  most  resolute  opj 
tion  from  the  landholders  and  cultivators  themselves,  Mussiun 
as  well  as  Christians.  They  had  always  paid  in  kind,  and 
not  easy  to  break  through  an  ancient  and  deep-rooted  cost 


Tli£  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference.  285 

They  understood  that  if  they  could  no  longer  pay  in  kind  they 
would  have  to  pay  in  money,  and  to  get  money  they  would  have 
to  borrow  it  of  usurers  at  very  high  rates  of  interest,  and  would 
iail  into  the  hands  of  Greek  and  Armenian  money-lenders,  who 
would  treat  them  no  less  mercilessly  than  the  tithe-collectors 
and  farmers.  We  have  not  been  ignorant  of  this  in  India,  and  it 
most  be  remembered  that,  notwithstanding  the  boasted  progress 
and  civilisation  of  Greece,  the  same  difficulty  has  arisen  in  that 
lungdom. 

Tie  mode  in  which  the  Turkish  Government  farmed  the 
tithes  led  to  great  abus^.  The  collectors  were  generally 
npacious  and  unscrupulous.  The  cultivators  were  frequently 
eompelled  to  sacrifice  a  third  or  more  of  their  produce  in  order 
to  pay  the  tenth.  But  it  must  be  remembered,  at  the  same  time, 
that  the  fisirmers  of  the  tithes  were  almost  always  Christians 
(just  as  the  ^  publicans '  of  Judea  were  Jews),  sometimes,  indeed, 
Europeans,  or  *•  Levantines.'  It  would,  no  doubt,  be  of  immense 
advantage  to  the  Turkish  Government  itself,  as  well  as  to  the 
Christians,  if  this  system  could  be  abolished  and  a  sounder 
method  of  taxation  substituted ;  and  there  is  no  reason  what- 
ever to  believe  that  the  Porte  would  not  do  so  if  persuaded  of 
its  advantage.  But  probably  the  greatest  difficulty  in  making 
the  change  would  come  from  the  Christians  themselves. 

These  two  instances  are  mentioned  as  proving  how  easy  it  is 
to  denounce  as  grievances  things  which  are  to  be  attributed 
lather  to  the  Christians  themselves  than  to  any  deliberate 
attempt  on  the  part  of  the  Turkish  Government  to  oppress  or 
misgovern  them. 

But  there  is  one  real  grievance  from  which  the  Christians  of 
^  Greek  faith — Bulgarians,  Bosnians,  and  others — have  suf- 
fered, and  very  horribly,  to  which  it  is  not  convenient  for  their 
T^itpathisers  to  allude,  and  which  Russia  has  never  denounced 
^  looght  to  remove.    We  mean  the  ignorance,  rapacity,  corrup- 
^on  and  oppression  of  their  own  clergy — the  ministers  of  that 
Pattern  Church  which  evokes  such  religious,  or  rather  ecclesi- 
*^cal,  enthusiasm  among  us.     It  may  be  stated,  without  fear  of 
^Qtradiction  from  those  who  can  speak  with  any  actual  know- 
*^dge  or  experience  on  this  subject,  that  there  is  not  a  vice, 
"^wever  abominable,  of  which  it  is  now  the  fashion  to  accuse 
**^e  Turks,  of  which  certainly  the  higher  clergy,  and  a  great  part 
^f  the  lower  clergy  too,  have  not  been  guilty.     Even  from  those 
horrible  lusts,  which  Mr.  Gladstone  so  eloquently  and  indig- 
^^tly  denounces  in  the  Turks,  they  have  not  been  exempt.    Their 
^orance,  and  the  fanaticism  and  intolerance  which  usually  ac- 
^^pany  ignorance  and  vice,  made  them  oppose  all  education 

and 


286  The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference. 

and  intellectual  improvement  amongst  their  own  people.  Chai 
with  the  collection  of  certain  taxes  and  of  the  civil  and  fin 
cial  administration  and  control  of  the  afiairs  of  their  flock 
(a  kind  of  municipal  system,  by  the  way,  which  might  fon 
basis  for  a  good  deal  of  '  autonomy '  or  8elf-govemment)^tl 
greed,  their  corruption,  and  their  acquaintance  with  the  resooi 
of  those  whom  they  had  to  fleece,  made  them  a  thousand  til 
more  formidable  and  more  hated  than  the  Turks  themseli 
A  Christian  might  often  be  heard  to  say,  '  From  the  Pasha  I  \ 
hide  my  money  and  escape  ruin,  but  my  Bishop  knows  e? 
para  that  I  have,  and  I  cannot  deceyire  him.'  Those  who  n 
have  passed  some  time  in  Greek  Convents,  or  may  have  chan< 
to  lodge  in  the  houses  of  Greek  Bishops,  will  know  too  well 
they  had  their  eyes  about  them,  and  were  not  blinded  by  a 
fantastic  love  or  admiration  for  the  Greek  Church  and  faith, ) 
manner  of  lives  that  Greek  Priests  and  Bishops  have  led. 
may  almost  be  said  that  the  abasement  and  unhappy  conditi 
of  the  Christians  of  Turkey  may  be  attributed  as  much  to  th 
own  clergy  as  to  their  Mussulman  rulers.  The  Bulgan 
'  pope '  who,  as  his  flock  told  Mr.  Barkley,  spent  his  week 
selling  charms,  and  his  Sundays  lying  drunk  among  the  nettl 
was  too  true  a  type  of  the  state  of  the  Greek  Church 
European  Turkey. 

It  is  of  course  contended,  on  the  other  hand,  that  it  i 
owing  to  the  Turkish  Government  that  the  clergy  were 
bad  as  they  were.  But  did  Russia  ever  interfere  to  reme 
this  state  of  things?  Did  the  interest  she  pretends  to  feel 
the  welfare  of  the  Christians  induce  her  to  attempt  a  refo 
of  the  clergy,  or  to  protect  from  the  effects  of  their  rapac 
and  ignorance  those  whose  grievances  she  is  now  prepared 
remove  even  by  war  ?  So  long  as  the  Greek  clergy  were  1 
docile  and  useful  agents,  she  supported  and  encouraged  th< 
in  their  evil-doings.  The  Greek  Bishops  and  clergy  of  Bi 
garia  and  the  other  provinces  of  Turkey  were  named  by, » 
were  dependent  upon,  the  Greek  Patriarch  of  Constantinop 
Simony  and  corruption  flourished.  The  Bishops  bought  th* 
sees.  The  state  of  things  was  such  that  at  last  the  Bulgaria 
demanded  that  they  should  be  released  from  their  dependen 
upon  the  Greek  Patriarch  of  Constantinople ;  that  they  shot 
have  their  own  clergy — bishops  and  priests  of  their  own  coubI 
and  speaking  their  own  language.  There  is  no  doubt  whatei 
that  this  important  national  movement  was  in  the  first  install 
strongly  opposed  by  Russia,  who  feared  lest  the  Bulgarians, 
longer  under  the  control  of  the  Greek  Patriarch,  would  slip  ^ 
of  her  hands.    It  has  been  stated  on  high  authority,  that  Rosi 

subsequent 


Tlie  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference.  287" 

sobseqaently  favoured  the  movement^  finding    that  she  could 
not  successfolly  oppose  it,  and  believing  that  by  herself  taking 
the  Bulgarian  clergy  in  hand  she  could  make  much  more  poli- 
tical use  of  them  for  her  own  ends,  than  she  could  through  the 
'  Greek  Patriarch  of  Constantinople.     This  is  very  probably  the 
case,  and  Russia  showed  her  usual  wisdom  and  farsightedness ;. 
especially  as  she  gained  a  step  towards  that  cherished  object 
of  her  policy — which    few   who    denounced   the    ^ Bulgarian^ 
horrors  in  Moumelia   were   conscious  of  abetting — the   south- 
ward extension  of  ^  Bulgaria,'  in  order  that  she,  when  the  time 
came  to  act  as  protector,  might  sit  h  cheval  upon  the  Balkans,, 
and  command   the   whole    region    as   far   as   Adrianople   ancl 
Salooica. 

The  state  of  the  Christian  populations  of  Turkey  in  Europe 
before  the  recent  insurrection  may  be  thus  described.  In  Bosnia,. 
the  Mussulman  and  Christian  population,  being  both  of  the  same 
Slav  origin,  lived  mixed  and  united.  Not  many  years  ago,  if 
not  still  at  the  present  day,  it  was  difficult  to  distinguish  Mussul- 
niaiu  from  Christians  in  many  of  the  villages.  They  are  said 
^en  to  have  intermarried.  It  was  suspected  that  many  of  the- 
great  Bosniac  Begs,  or  landholders,  were  secretly  Christians — 
that  they  went  to  the  mosque  on  Friday  and  heard  mass  in  the- 
harem  on  Sunday.  The  grievances  of  the  Bosniac  Christian 
population  arose  both  from  Turkish  misgovemment  and  from 
their  position  as  cultivators  of  the  soil  under  the  landholders, 
who  were  a  kind  of  feudal  lords.  Many  years  ago  they  suffered 
greatly  from  the  *  corvee,'  or  forced  labour,  to  which  they  had 
occn  compelled  to  submit,  at  certain  seasons  and  for  certain 
periods,  from  the  remotest  times,  and  probably  before  the  Turk- 
^k  conquest.  From  this  they  were  delivered  chiefly  through  the- 
representations  of  Lord  Stratford  de  Redcliffe  (then  Sir  Stratford 
^^wming).  From  the  collection  of  the  tithes  and  taxes,  from 
^  corruption,  ignorance,  and  neglect  of  Turkish  government 
^i  o£Scials,  from  all  the  varied  admitted  abuses  of  Tutkish  rule 
^y  suffered  like  the  rest  of  Turkey — ^Mohammedans  and 
^Qiistians  alike.  But  these  grievances  were  not  of  a  nature  to- 
«^ve  caused  an  insurrection,  and  they  might  have  been  reme- 
"*ed  without  war,  had  proper  means  been  taken  to  do  so,  as  is 
pr'oved  by  the  despatches  of  Consul  Holmes,  than  whom  there  , 
^^d  not  be  a  better  authority.*  The  Bosnians  had  also- 
?**other  grievance — and  that  against  Austria  :  they  had  no  out- 
**^  for  their  moduce,  owing  to  her  short-sighted  policy  in  almost 
losing  the  Dalmatian    frontier  against  them.      With   Servia, 

^  See  the  Papers  laid  before  Parliament  last  year,  which  are  well  worth  cou- 
•tOtujg. 

Montenegro, 


288  The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference. 

Montenegro,  and  Austria,  almost  surrounding  her,  Bosnia  has  n 
means  of  disposing  of  her  agricultural  and  other  wealth.  Sb 
has  no  access  to  the  sea  except  through  Dalmatia.  This  is 
very  important  matter  in  considering  the  future  condition  i 
Bosnia — especially  if  she  is  to  be  made  an  autonomous  or  sent 
independent  state,  and  still  more  if  she  is  to  be  independent 
for  in  that  case  Dalmatia  is  absolutely  necessary  to  her.  'Will 
out  seaports,  or  cheap  and  easy  means  of  reaching  the  se 
Bosnia  can  never  really  flourish.  There  is  no  other  reasc 
why  the  province,  with  improved  government,  proper  prote 
lion  to  the  Christians,  and  peace,  might  not  rapidly  advan. 
in  prosperity.  In  the  course  of  time  the  Mussulmans  aa 
Christians — who,  as  we  have  said,  are  all  Slavs  alike — ^wooi 
be  again  reconciled.  On  account  of  the  mixture  of  the  Mc 
sulman  landowners  with  Greek  and  Latin  Christians — not 
very  unequal  numbers  —  no  province  of  Turkey  in  Euw 
could  be  made  suddenly  self-governing  or  semi-independe 
without,  the  -greatest  risk  of  general  disturbance  and  a  chron 
state  of  agitation. 

The  state  of  Herzegovina  is  not  very  different  from  that  < 
Bosnia;  but  that  of  Bulgaria  is  entirely  distinct  fiY>m  botl 
The  Christian  Bulgarians,  whatever  may  have  been  their  origii 
(which  was  at  first  not  Slav,  but  from  the  same  family  as  tb 
Turks),*  now  differ  as  much  from  their  rulers  in  nationality « 
in  creed  and  language.  The  difficulty  of  bringing  about  any  real 
reconciliation  between  the  races  is  immense,  perhaps  insupei*' 
ble.  The  Christian  Bulgarians  form  the  vast  majority  of  the  popu- 
lation, and  have  been  held  down  in  a  state  almost  of  serfdom. 
They  are  unwarlike,  and  have,  unlike  the  Serbs  and  Bosnians,  no 
traditions  or  history  to  look  back  upon.  They  must  be  fonnri 
and  moulded  into  a  nation,  if  they  are  ever  to  be  one.  At 
present  they  are  unfit  for  anything  like  self-government,  bot 
they  are  peaceful,  industrious,  and  intelligent.  What  they 
require  is  good  and  just  government :  and  that  this  government 
may  be  Turkish,  was  proved  by  the  administration  of  MidW 
Pasha.  If  his  plans,  which  in  many  points  foreshadowed  bii 
new  Constitution,  had  been  carried  out,  and  if  only  foreign 
agents  and  intrigues  had  been  excluded,  and  the  Christians  left 
alone,  the  province  would  by  this  time  have  g^atly  increaieo 
in  prosperity,  and  the  Christians  in  wealth  and  influence.  AU 
would  have  made  safe  progress  in  the  direction  that  has  been 
pointed  out ;  and  the  Christians  would  have  been  surely  p^ 


%Tho  degree  in  which  the  Ugrian  Bulgarians  Imve  been  absorbed  among  ^M 
conquered  Slavonianfi  is  still  a  question  much  disputed. 

paring 


The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference.  289 

paring  themselves  for   self-government,  if  not  for   semi-Inde- 
pendence. 

The  Turkish  Government  has  been  unjustly  denounced  for 
having  placed  Circassian  colonies  in  Bulgaria,  purposely  to 
oppress  and  keep  down  the  Christians.  This  is  one  of  those 
reckless  accusations  that  have  been  made  by  the  advocates  of 
Russia  in  England,  and  by  no  one  else.  The  facts  were  these. 
A  large  Mohammedan  population  were  driven  by  the  Russians 
from  the  Caucasus.     The  Turkish  Government  received  these 

Epie  hospitably  and  placed  them  in  different  parts  of  the 
pire.  Some  had  lands  and  villages  assigned  to  them  in 
Bulgaria  proper,  others  to  the  south  of  the  Balkan ;  some  in 
Asia  Minor,  others  in  Mesopotamia.  Whether  placed  near 
Mossolmans  or  Christians,  they  unfortunately  showed  the  same 

Jropensities  ;  the  same  complaints  are  made  against  them  in 
lesopotamia  as  in  Bulgaria.  But  it  must  be  remembered  that 
they  came  infuriated  and  smarting  from  Russian  tyranny,  and 
^ey  were  at  one  time  the  favourite  heroes  of  the  same  persons 
in  England  who  are  now  making  similar  heroes  of  the  Monte- 
negrins, and  who  would  have  been  the  first  to  denounce  the 
Turks,  had  they  not  hospitably  received  and  treated  the  Cir- 
*^*»ians.  Montenegrins  are  not  less  cruel  in  their  treatment  of 
Mussulmans,  than  Circassians  are  of  Christians;  witness  the 
noses  of  mutilated  Turks  which  they  treasured  up  in  the  late 
^w,  as  ^n  American  Indian  his  trophies  of  scalps.  All  such 
wbarians  should  and  must  be  kept  down  with  a  strong  hand  ; 
^d  the  Turkish  Government  could  have  little  difficulty  in  dis- 
^^ng  the  Circassians,  and  compelling  them  to  abstain  from 
Molesting  their  neighbours. 

A  very  important  point,  with  regard  to  the  Bulgarians,  is  the- 

•nccess  of  the  labours  of  the  Protestant  missionaries  amongst 

them.    The  progress  that  they  had  made,  and  were  making,  was 

producing  a  result  which  cannot  be  over-estimated.     They  were 

i^ot  only  introducing  amongst  the  Bulgarians  a  good   system   of 

Vacation ;  but  their  example,  and  the  fear  of  their  still  greater 

^^ccess,  were  compelling  the  Bulgarian  clergy  to  take  measures 

^  educate  themselves  and  their  own  people.     Wherever  Pro- 

^^«tant  missions  have  been  established  in  Catholic  and  Greek 

^mmunities,  the  competition  which  their  schools  have  produced 

**^  been  as  advantageous  to  the  people  as  the  teachings  of  the 

Missionaries.     Russia  most  energetically  and  decidedly  set  her 

:^ce  against  these  missions.     If  her  influence  were  paramount 

^^  Bulgaria,  they  would  be  crushed  at  once.     Under  the  Turks — 

J^hether  from  indifference  or  toleration  it  is  scarcely  necessary 

*^^re  to  enquire — they  were  allowed  to  exist  and  to  flourish. 

Vol.  U3.—No.  285.  u  Dr. 


290  The  Eastern  Q;uiAsli(m  and  the  Conference. 

Dr.  Eli  Smith,  the  respected  American  missionarj,  who  lived 
fifty  years  in  the    country,  bears   emphatic   testimony  to  the 
toleration  of  the  Turks : — '  We  are  prepared  to  say  that  we  are 
content  with  the  toleration  Mohammedan  law  affords  us.     The 
extent  of  this  toleration  ought  to  be  known  to  the  credit  o( 
the  law  which  grants  it,  and  every  influence  from  abroad  tending 
to  curtail  it  is  highly  to  he  deprecaked.     It  is  sure  that  we  should 
have  less  liberty  under  any  European  Grt)vemment  that  mi^t 
be  extended  over  the  country,  unless  it  were  that  of  one  or  two 
of  the  most  tolerant  of  the  Protestant  Powers.'  * 

It  cannot  be  too  often  repeated  that  neither  Servia  nor  Ronma- 
nia  had  any  grievances  whatever  against  Turkey.  Their  treities 
had  been  respected,  they  enjoyed  the  most  complete  administntiTe 
independence,  and  they  were  under  the  protection  of  the  great 
Powers,  who  had  guaranteed  that  independence,  for  which  the 
small  tribute  they  annually  paid  to  the  Porte  was  far  less  than 
a  sufficient  sacrifice.  Turkey  had  made  concession  afta:  con- 
cession to  them,  on  their  solemn  promise  of  remaining  iiaithfol 
to  their  engagements — a  pledge  which  in  the  case  of  Servia  was 
most  shamefully  broken.  As  regards  these  Principalities,  theie- 
fore,  there  is  nothing  with  which  to  reproach  Turkey. 

Such  being  the  state  of  things  in  the  Slav  provinces  of  Tmkej 
in  Europe,  why  has  not  the  gradual  but  sure  progress  to  which 
allusion  has  been  made  taken  place  ?  why  have  not  the  Chrift" 
tians  made  a  greater  advance  in  civilisation  than  they  have? 
why  has  the  Turkish  Government  not  improved?  why  have 
insurrections  broken  out  ?  and  why  has  Europe  been  menaced  with 
a  war  on  account  of  the  condition  of  these  provinces  ?  No  one 
who  will  examine  the  question  calmly,  who  is  acquainted  with  i 
history,  who  will  listen  to  facts  and  evidence  inst^id  of  to  wild 
and  unscrupulous  declamation,  will  hesitate  to  answer : — ^Because 
Russia  has  willed  it  so.  A  gceat  nation  has,  or  ought  to  have, 
its  matured  national  policy — and  any  other  nation  may  object 
to  that  policy,  and  may  condemn  it  as  dangerous  to  its  own 
interests.  Therefore,  although  it  may  be  our  duty  to  oyf^ 
the  policy  of  Russia  as  contrary  to  our  interests,  it  is  vaxneoanrj 
to  accuse  her  of  treachery,  dishonour,  or  falseness  in  pursuing  i^ 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  disputants  on  both  sides  have  too  mncfa 
forgotten  the  elements  of  instability  and  vacillation,  of  passion 
and  cunning,  which  beset  a  policy  in  the  hands  of  an  antocrat, 
especially  of  one  infected  with  the  hereditary  taint  of  the  house 
of  Romanoff. 


♦  Quoted  in  * Enrfand'a  Duty  to  Turkey:'  being  a  Leotnre  deliTored  by I^ 
feasor  Porter,  of  Belfast,  28rd  of  December,  1876. 


The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference*  291 

If  the  self-confident  declaimers  against  the  Crimean  War,  and 
the  people  who  are  ready  from  sheer  ignorance  to  echo  their 
bare  assertions,  would  submit  to  the  pleasing  labour  of  reading 
its  recorded  history,  they  would  find  the  course  of  Russian 
policy  at  that  time  traced  by  a  master  hand.  The  Czar  Nicholas 
was  not  always  consistent  in  his  professions,  much  less  in  keeping 
his  plighted  word ;  but  again  and  again  he  laid  down  the  broad 
lines  of  his  policy.  In  the  memorandum  composed  on  his  visit 
to  England  in  1844,  he  insisted  on  the  common  interest  of  Great 
Britain  and  Russia  to  preserve  the  integrity  and  independence 
of  Turkey  for  the  present ;  but  also^  in  view  of  the  inevitable 
catastrophe,  to  come  in  good  time  to  an  understanding  on  the 
course  to  be  taken — that  is,  reading  between  the  lines,  for  the 
division  of  the  spoil.  The  key  to  his  policy  was  again  given 
in  his  celebrated  conversations  with  Sir  Hamilton  Seymour,  in 
1853.  Russia,  he  said,  could  never  allow  a  strong  independent 
Power  to  be  established  to  the  south  of  the  Danube — whether 
Turkish,  Slav,  or  Greek.  When  this  resolve,  which  nothing 
will  shake,  is  borne  in  mind,  the  policy  of  Russia  becomes  per- 
fectly clear. 

The  Czar  Nicholas,  as  was  his  habit  in  conversing  with 
English  statesmen,  gave  his  confidences  to  Sir  Hamilton  Sey- 
mour on  that  same  word  of  a  friend  and  *•  gentleman^  which, 
when  pledged  by  his  son,  it  seems  so  outrageous  to  doubt ; 
and  he  frankly  told  Sir  Hamilton,  *  if  England  thinks  of  esta- 
blishing herself  one  of  these  days  at  Constantinople,  I  will  not 
allow  it.  .  .  .  For  my  part,  I  am  equally  disposed  to  take  the 
engagement  not  to  establish  myself  there,  as  proprietor  that  is  to 
say,  for  as  occupier  I  do  not  say :  it  might  happen  that  circum- 
stances, if  no  previous  provision  were  made,  .  .  .  might  place 
me  in  the  position  of  occupying  Constantinople.*  In  two  sub- 
sequent conversations  he  uttered  his  famous  saying,  *  The  sick 
man  is  dying,*  and  proposed  to  form  Servia  and  Bulgaria  into 
independent  States  *  under  my  protection^  as  he  assumed  Walla- 
chia  and  Moldavia  to  be  already,  while  he  offered  Egypt  and 
Crete  to  England  * — almost  anything  she  liked,  except  a  footing 
on  the  Bosphorus  or  in  Asia  Minor. 

There  is  a  sense  in  which  a  Czar  may,  at  any  time  up  to  the 
present  moment,  sincerely  disclaim  designs  on  Constantinople. 
Though  an  overwhelming  mass  of  declarations  and  aspirations, 
and  of  facts  far  stronger  than  either,  make  it  certain  that  Russia 
holds  that  capital  to  be  her  necessary  and  destined  possession, 
there  has  perhaps  never  been  an  exact  moment  when  she  in- 

*  Kinglake'a  *■  Invasion  of  the  Crimea,'  vol«  L  pp.  84  CO. 

U  2  \^wd^ 


292  The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference. 

tended  to  make  the  grasp.     '  The  pear  is  not  yet  ripe.'    The 
Turkish  Empire  in  Europe  must  first  be  undermined  and  dis- 
integrated, and  its  Christian   elements   brought  wholly  under 
Russian  influence,  as  protector  before  she  becomes  possessor^ 
The  means  and  agencies  by  which  this  policy  is  carried  out 
other  matters  for  discussion.     In  thus  stating  the  case  no  oi 
can  be  accused  of  Russophobism.      We  can  admit  that  if  w  ^ 
were  Russians  we  might  consider  this  policy  a  wise  one  aA.<3 
essential  to  Russian  interests.    As  Englishmen,  we  can  say,  witVx- 
out  being  accused  of  hatred  or  vulgar  jealousy  of  Russia,  tl^^^ 
we  consider  it  contrary  to  our  interests,  and  that  it  is  as  mii^^ 
our  duty  to  oppose  it  as  it  may  be  the  duty  of  Russia  to  maint^^^ 
it ;    and,  with  our  knowledge  of  these  designs,  every  appeal    for 
implicit  confidence  in  Russia  is  a  mockery  of  our  common  sen^s^* 

At  one  time  it  was  supposed  that  the  Greeks  might  establi-^" 
an   Empire  on  the  ruins  of  that  of  Turkey.      That  idea    1»»* 
passed  away,  at  least  from  the  sphere  of  practical  politics ;  ^^a^d 
it  is  the  solution  most  utterly  opposed  to  the  plans  of  Rus33.^ 
as  is  every  other  idea  of  raising  a  free  Christian  State  on   'tla-c 
ruins  of  European  Turkey.      But,    in  passing,  we  may  no** 
the  wild  incoherence  of  that  class  of  agitators,  who,  boasti<s^ 
to    take   their   stand   on   history,   and    aspiring   to    revive   tfa* 
Christian  glories  of  the  '  New  Rome,'  which  *  must  always    ^^ 
a  seat  of  Empire,'  figure  among  the  most  violent  supporters  ^ 
that  policy,  the  practical  aim  of  which  is  to  raise  the  Slav  ^p 
the  degradation  of  the  Greek,  at  the  imminent  risk  of  a  civ"i' 
war  of  races,  aggravating  the   horrors   of  their   crusade,  ax»^ 
ending  in  subjecting  both  to  Russia.* 

The  Slavs  of  Turkey  have  taken  the  place  of  the  Greeks,  ^^ 
European  opinion,  and  now,  it  seems,  in  European  policy,  as  tb^ 
probable,  or  possible,  successors  of  the  Turks.  Russia,  therefoi^» 
had  two  main  objects  in  view :  Firstly,  to  prevent  the  develop* 
ment  amongst  the  Turkish  Slavs,  including  the  Servians,  of  ed^**' 
cation  and  liberal  institutions,  which  might  enable  them  to  (ot^^ 
a  strong  independent  Power  in  the  event  of  the  breaking  up  ^ 
the  Ottoman  Empire  ;  and,  secondly,  to  bring  about  that  event-"^ 


*  Tlio  *  Greek  factor*  is  one  of  tlie  many  elements  of  the  question  inrhicb.  -a 
are  compelled  to  pass  over  for  the  present ;  and  among  the  mass  of  evidence  ^i 
hand  on  this  point,  we  must  be  content  to  refer  to  the  remarkable  leUe^  ^^ 
M.  Alexandre  Byzautios  in  the  *  Times  *  of  Jan.  5,  stating  the  case  of  the  Gie^J^ 
in  Turkey,  and  specially  remonstrating  with  England  for  neglecting  their  <***^S> 
after  inducing  them  to  refrain  from  asserting  it  by  the  method  of  rebelUoC  ^ 
which  the  Slavs  have  so  successfully  appealed,  and  which  General  Ignatieff  P'^ 
expressly  recommended  to  tfie  Greeks  and  now  taunts  them  for  not  adopti^ 
Well  may  M.  Byzantios  rejoin,  *\Vc  know,  as  wo  have  proved,  how  to  get  u^^ 
little  insurrection/ 


The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference.  293 

>reaking  up  of  the  Turkish  Empire,  at  any  rate  in  Europe 

soon  as  possible  ;  for  the  shorter  the  time,  the  easier  will 

for  Russia  to  keep  the  Slav  and  other  Christian  popula- 

in  the  state  in  which  she  wishes  them  to  be,  that  is,  weak 

divided,  if  she  does  not  actually  incorporate  them  into  her 

re  for  the  present.     To  these  two  main  and  cardinal  points 

irhole  Turkish  policy  has  been  directed — and  there  is  the 

abundant  proof  and  documentary  evidence  of  the  fact, 

I  cannot  be  discredited  or  swept  aside  by  pamphleteers  or 

mers  at  indignation-meetings. 

;ry  missionary  connected  with  Turkey  in  Europe  can 
'  (as  many  have)  that  Russian  agents  steadily  opposed 
»ening  of  Protestant  schools,  and  even  of  Bulgarian  schools 
?ere  not  under  their  immediate  control  and  superintend 
When  the  first  educational  movement  commenced  in 
ria,  the  great  or  rather  the  only  impediment  in  its  way 
le  opposition  of  Russian  Consuls,  Vice-Consuls,  and  con- 
agents,  to  say  nothing  of  secret  agents,  who  swarmed  in 
•untry.  This  has  been  stated  on  the  best  authority.  As 
!en  pointed  out,  no  attempt  was  made  by  Russia  to  reform 
ulgarian  clergy.  They  were  left,  if  not  encouraged,  in 
ignorance  and  corruption.  Nothing  contributed  more 
this  to  retard  the  progress  of  the  people  and  render 
unfit  for  self-government  and  independence.  In  Servia 
lontenegro  constant  intrigues  kept  the  populations  dis- 
3d,  turned  them  from  peaceful  occupations,  and  retarded 
il  improvement  of  their  country. 

all  very  well  to  talk  of  the  progress  of  civilisation  in  those 
states — owing  to  their  independence  of  the  Porte.  But  in 
did  that  civilisation  consist?  Simply  in  the  education 
I — at  Paris  or  Vienna — of  a  few  men  who  have  come  back 
n  an  exceptional  class,  have  assumed  the  government  of 
ate,  and  have  endeavoured  to  introduce  some  European 
tions,  which  are  for  the  most  pait  unsuited,  if  not  actually 
ms  and  dangerous,  to  the  population  themselves.  The 
has  been  that  in  the  capitals,  such  as  Belgrade  and 
rest — for  what  is  here  stated  applies  to  Roumania  as  well 
ervia,  and  to  Greece  too — there  is  every  manner  of  political 
le  and  corruption ;  a  perpetual  political  struggle  amongst 
V  men  who  assume  to  themselves  the  right  of  governing 
in'try ;  and  a  kind  of  varnish  of  civilisation  and  culture 
imposes  upon  travellers  and  Europe ;  whilst  the  populations 
lives  are  but  little  improved  since  they  have  been  freed 
le  Turkish  yoke.     It  is  now  considered  by  some  persons 

very 


294  The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference. 

very  doubtful  whether  under  such  a  system  of  government  they 
can  improve  substantially  as  much  as  they  might  improve  under 
Turkish  rule,  supposing  that  rule  to  be  controlled  and  exercised 
in  the  manner  which  we  propose  presently  to  point  out. 

Of  late  years  Russia  has  been  more  actively  engaged  than  sh(^ 
has  perhaps  ever  been  in  endeavouring  to  bring  about  the  break  *-^ 
ing  up  of  the  Turkish  Empire.     The  destruction  of  the  balanc^^ 
of  power  in  Europe,  resulting  from  the  Franco-German  wax-, 
and  of  the  old  alliances  which  existed  between  the  great  Euro- 
pean States — each  of  which  has  remained  isolated  and  more  or 
less  suspicious  of  its  neighbours — gave  great  encouragement  t,o 
Russia,  and  a  great  opportunity  of  which  she  was  not  slow  to 
avail  herself.     The  object  of  the  Russian  Government  in  sen<l- 
ing  General  Ignatieff  to  Constantinople  was  to  bring  about   a 
state  of  things  which  would  threaten  the  very  existence  of  t"^ 
Turkish  Empire.     He  was  a  man  peculiarly  well  adapted  to  tb© 
post ;  a  diplomatist  of  great  experience,  who  had  been  ©in^ 
nently  successful  in  dealing  with  Asiatics.     He  had  obtain^ 
enormous  advantages  for  Russia  in  Asia  by  his  skill  and  firi**' 
ness;  he  was  bold  and  unscrupulous;  and  he  was  thorough 'J 
acquainted  with  the  policy  and  wishes  of  his  Government,  aH** 
had  sufficient  courage  and  reliance  upon  himself  to  carry  tb^'^ 
out  according  to  his  own  fashion  and  means.     We  know  on  tb^ 
highest   authority,  that  some  years   ago,   not   long  before   tb^ 
Franco-German    war,    General    Ignatieff  stated    frankly  to    ^p 
eminent  diplomatist,  not  an  Englishman,  that  the  object  of  b«^ 
mission  to  Turkey  was  to  put  an  end  to  the  dominion  of  tb^ 
Ottoman  in  Europe.     '  This,'  he  said,  '  was  to  be  accomplish*^ 
by  constantly  inciting  the  Christian  population  to  rise  against  tb^ 
Turks,  so  as  to  drive  the  Turks  into  measures  of  repression  whi^^b 
would  excite  the  indignation  and  sympathy  of  Europe,  and  t^ 
push  Servia  and  Montenegro  into  a  war  with  Turkey.     Th^se 
States    taking   the   direction    of  the   general   insurrection   an*» 
rendering    it    unnecessary   for   Russia   herself  to   interfere    i^ 
Turkey  in  Europe,  she  would  invade  the  Asiatic  provinces    ^\ 
Turkey  from  the  Caucasus,  and  thus  deprive  her  of  the  power  ^^ 
sending  sufficient  troops  against  the  Christians  in  Europe,    ^ 
she  would  require  all  her  resources  to  enable  her  to  meet  tb^ 
Russian  armies  in  Asia.     We  don't  want  Constantinople,'  add^ 
General   Ignatieff;   'we  are    not  disposed  to  quarrel  with    ^' 
Europe  about  it,  but  we  do  want  territory  in  Asia.     We  reqai^ 
a  portion  of  the  Turkish  territory  on  the  Black  Sea  (alluding 
no  doubt,  to  the  harbour  of  Batoum,  which  has  long  been  coveted 

by  Russia),  and  we  must  extend  our  frontier  towards  ErzeroU'*' 

for 


The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference.  295 

aecessary  reasons.'  *  All  that  has  occurred  since  this  decla- 
m  was  made  shows  that  General  Ignatieff  had  rightly  ex- 
fid  the 'Resigns  and  policy  of  his  Government :  only  through 
Kpected  eyents  in  European  Turkey — the  collapse  of  the 
rians,  and  the  failure  to  excite  a  general  insurrection  in 
g;aria — the  -scheme  of  getting  the  Turkish  Slavs  to  da 
sia's  work  for  her  has  collapsed,  and  Russia  has  been  im- 
ed  to  adopt  other  means. 

.  very  interesting  correspondence  between  two  well-known 
slavist  agents,  MM.  Hilferding  and  Nemtchinow  t  (of 
authenticity  of  which,  although  since  denied,  there  can  be 
e  doubt),  shows  that  in  the  autumn  pf  1870,  while  the 
dan  Government  was  sending  secret  agents  into  all  parts- 
iluropean  Turkey  to  incite  the  populations  to  insurrection, 
e  gentlemen,  with  the  countenance  of  the  Russian  Govem- 
it,  and  with  the  assistance  of  M.  Lex,  the  Russian  Consul- 
leral  in  Egypt,  were  endeavouring  to  prevail  upon  the 
idive,  not  apparently  without  some  success,  to  plunge  Turkey 
a  war  by  declaring  himself  independent  of  the  Sultan,  and 
end  agents  into  Syria  and  Arabia  to  stir  up  the  population 
iiose  countries  against  Turkish  rule.  Insurrection  in  Turkey 
Europe,  and  a  quarrel  between  the  Sultan  and  the  Khedive, 
I  brought  about  by  Russia,  and  an  invasion  by  her  of  Asia 
lor — all  this  breaking  out  at  the  same  time  was  to  lead  to 
dismemberment  of  the  Ottoman  Empire.  But  the  Khedive 
08  to  have  been  false  to  his  promises,  and  to  have  perceived 
Line  the  dangerous  game  that  he  was  being  induced  to  play, 
ather,  perhaps,  to  have  been  too  wily  for  the  agents ;  for  that 
te  ruler  cares  nothing  for  the  Slavs,  nor  does  he  seem  to 
i  any  designs  on  Syria  and  Arabia,  his  great  object  being 
onsolidate  and  extend  his  power  in  Africa, 
faring  all  this  time  a  most  powerful  Panslavist  agency  was 
le  use  of  by  the  Russian  Government  to  promote  its  views. 
Disraeli  was  quite  right  and  was  fully  justified  in  attributing 
insurrection  in  European  Turkey  and  the  state  of  affairs  in 
East  to  '  secret  societies,'  and  those  who  scoffed  at  him  only 
?ed  their  ignorance  of  one  of  the  most  powerful  agencies 
he  world  for  political  revolution  and  mischief.  Although 
'Omladina'  and  the  Panslavist  societies  may  have  been 
Bt  in  their  workings,  and  we  may  have  wilfully  shut  our 


1  fliend  long  resident  in  Bussia  lately  wrote  to  us  that,  in  case  of  war,  the 
attack  would  be  made  from  the  Caucasus  and  Armenia ;  and  the  Crimean 
proved  the  importance  attached  by  Bussia  to  Erzeroum  and  Kars. 
iepublished  from  the  <Allgemeine  Zeituug'  in  the  *  Times 'of  the  11th 
Member  last. 

••  eyes 


21)6  The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Confererxe, 

eyes  to  them,  they  were  well  known  to  the  Russian  Grovem- 
ment,  and  put  to  use  hy  it.     There  is  now  no  disg^se  about 
the  matter,  and  probably  nobody  would  any  longer  doubt  that 
Mr.  Disraeli  was  right.     The  recent  6meute  of  students  at  St 
Petersburg  on  St.  Nicholas'  day,  which  appears  to  have  beei^ 
directed,  in  part  at  least,  against  the  impending  war,  is  said  tc^ 
have  been  connected  with  a  great  republican  society,  with  it^ 
head-quarters  at  Moscow,  having  for  its  object  the  breaking  Q 
of  Russia  into  a  number  of  federal  republics.    Besides  all  fatnc* 
danger  from  these  societies,  and  from  the  still  larger  mass  of  UTft.. 
affiliated  republican  or  constitutional  aspirations,  by  which  tk^e 
despotism  of  the  Czars  is  eaten  through  and  through,  though  tbe 
shell  looks  whole  and  firm,  they  have  a  most  disturbing  infld- 
ence  on  the  present  policy  of  Russia.     Some  enthusiasts  lus.te 
war,  but  many  more  desire  it  as  the  means  of  securing  internal 
reform.      ^  All  our  recent  liberties,  the   improvements  of  tlie 
present  reign,'  they  say,  *  were  the  fruit  of  the  Crimean  War : 
they  are  now  suspended  ;  and  their  revival  is  worth  another, 
even  though  we  should  be  beaten.'     We  know  this  from  direct 
information ;  and  we  can  well  believe  that,  tottering  between  s 
ruinous  war  and  a  more  ruinous  revolution,  the  Czar  may  prefer 
present  danger  to  future  destruction. 

When  the  secret  history  of  General  IgnatiefiTs   mission  to 
Constantinople  comes  to  be  known,  if  it  ever  will  be  known* 
the  world  will  be  astonished  at  the  means  by  which  he  canied 
through  the  policy  he  was  directing.     The  complete  control  and 
influence  that  he  succeeded  in  obtaining  over  the  late  Sultan  and 
his  Ministers  enabled  him  to  lead  them  gradually  but  surely  to 
the  brink  of  the  gulf  into  which  they  were  to  fadl.     The  fifft 
great  public  act  which  shook  the  credit  and  position  of  Turkey» 
the  declaration  of  bankruptcy  by  the  suspension  of  the  payment 
of  the  foreign  debt,  in  October  1875,  was  owing  to  his  adnce. 
He  well  knew  the  effect  that  such  a  default  would  have  upon 
Europe,  and   its   disastrous   result   to  Turkey.     His  influence 
was  never  used  to  check  the  extravagance  of  the  late  Sultan  and 
the  corruption  of  those  about  him.     They  were  too  surely  playiflf 
into  his  hands.     It  is  stated  on  no  mean  authority,  that  it  was 
owing  to  his  advice  that  the  Turkish  Government  adopted  thoie 
measures  for  the  repression  of  the  Bulgarian  insurrection-^^^ 
insurrection  incited  by  Russo-Slav  agents,  with  whose  proceed- 
ings no    one   was  better   acquainted  than  himself — which  W 
to  the  horrible  massacres  that  completely  turned    the  tide  o* 
European  opinion   against  Turkey,  and  which  may  prove  the 
immediate  cause  of  the  fall  of  the  Ottoman  dominion  in  Europe* 

It  is  perfectly  astounding  that  men  who  have  been  statesm^ 

and 


The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference.  297 

and  who  ought  to  have  some  notions  of  truth  and  some  respect 
ibr  evidence,  should  still  persist  in  justifying  the  war  waged  by 
&nria  and  Montenegro  against  Turkey  on  the  pretext  of  their 
sympathy  for  the  sufferings  of  their  brother  Slavs  still  under 
the  Turkish  yoke ;  and  that  others,  expanding  this  idea,  should 
attribute   the  outbreak   of  the   war   with   those   States  to  the 
massacres  in  Bulgaria.     Mr.  White,  the  British  Consul-General 
St  Belgrade,  writing  to  Lord  Derby  on  the  5th  of  February  last,* 
states  that  the  preparations  for  war  had  been  going  on  steadily 
in    Senria  for  some  months,  and  that  a  supreme  effort  would 
probably    be   made   to   bring   about   a   Bosnian   and  Servian, 
and  possibly  a  Bulgarian^  insurrection.     This  statement,  which 
cannot   be  controverted,   proves   beyond   a   question   that   the 
utsnrrections  in  those  provinces  were  not  spontaneous  on  the 
part  of  the  Christian  populations,  but  were  brought  about  from 
without — that  is  by  Russian  agency  acting  through  Servia,  and 
that  the  Bulgarian  massacre,  which   took  place  some  months 
later,  was  not  the  cause  of  the   Servian  war,  but  one  of  the 
«flFect8  of  Russo-Servian  machinations.     Upon  the  same  high 
authority  we  have  the  statement  made  on  the  28th  of  April,t 
that  there  was  not  a  single  politician  of  any  note  in  Servia  who 
<lid  not  contemplate  hostilities  with  the  Porte  for  the  acquisi- 
tion of  Bosnia,  and  with  the  object  of  making  Servia  the  nucleus 
<>f  a  large  Slavonic  State,  and  that  Servia  looked  then  to  some 
^probable  outrages'  of  the  Mohammedans  on  the  Christians  to 
afford  her  a  pretext  for  going  to  war  (p.  128). 

Nothing    is    said   about   that  overpowering  and  justifiable 
anlour  of  the  Servians,  so  much  extolled  since  by  Mr.  Glad- 
stone and  others,   to  come  to  the  aid  of  their  oppressed  and 
suffering  fellow-Christians.     It  was,  as  Mr.  Disraeli  truly  said, 
a  question    of  provinces '  to   be  acquired.     Already  at    that 
tune  Mr.  White  stated — and  this  proves  how  well  he  judged 
the  situation — that  the   Servian  people,    consisting  mainly  of 
Peasant  proprietors,  were  adverse  to  and  dreaded  the  war.     It 
*^y  be  presumed  that  of  those  who  have  declaimed  so  much 
^pon  the  Turkish  question  few  have  read  the  correspondence 
Presented  to  Parliament,  where  the  truth  may  be  learnt,  and 
^at  those   who    have  read   it   have  wilfully  shut   their  eyes 
^  its  lessons.     In  fact,  the  mass  of  evidence  that  can  be  fur- 
^Uhed  as  to  the  origin  of  the  insurrections  in  the  Turkish- 
**^opean  provinces  leaves  it  beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  that 
**^^y  were  brought  about  by  Russian  and  Slav  intrigues,  and 

^    '  Parliamentary  Papers.    Turkey,  No.  2.    Correspondence  respecting  Afifairs 
•^Boania  and  Herzegovinn,*  1876.    p.  1. 
t  See  p.  127  of  the  eamo  correspondence. 

that 


298  The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference. 

that  they  were  part  and  parcel  of  a  carefully-prepared  plot  and 
of  a  distinct  policy.  Most  unhappily  the  designs  of  Russia  were 
promoted  beyond  expectation  by  the  horrible  excesses  of  the 
Turkish  irregulars  and  the  Circassians  in  suppressing  the  out^ 
break  in  Bulgaria.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  horrors  then  com- 
mitted, which  justly  excited  the  indignation  of  Europe,  and 
especially  of  England,  there  would  not  have  been  two  opinions 
either  as  to  the  conduct  of  Russia  or  as  to  her  designs.  This  is 
proved  by  the  almost  unanimous  approval  the  British  Govern- 
ment received,  before  the  intelligence  of  those  horrors  reached 
England,  in  the  measures  which  it  had  taken  to  check  Russia. 

The  altered  condition  of  things  must  now  be  looked  in 
the  face ;  but  no  British  statesman  worthy  of  the  name,  who 
knows  what  the  true  interests  of  his  country  are,  will  allow  him- 
self to  be  turned  away  from  the  vast  politicad  considerations 
which  are  connected  with  the  *  Turkish  Question' — with  the 
breaking  up  of  the  Turkish  Empire,  for  that  is  really  the  matter 
at  issue — ^by  an  incidental,  though  most  shocking,  event,  nor 
by  any  sudden  enthusiasm  of  sympathy  for  Russia,  which  may 
have  seized  a  fraction  of  the  British  people.  Happily,  this 
seems  to  be  proved  by  the  refusal  of  almost  every  leading 
Liberal  politician  of  recognised  ability  and  influence,  to  take 
part  in  the  recent  agitation  and  the  so-called  '  National  Con- 
ference ; '  for  they  feel  that,  although  in  opposition,  they  have  . 
still  a  vast  responsibility  in  regard  to  this  question. 

Now,  to  what  is  this  question  at  present  reduced  ?  To  this  t  _ 
Whether  Russia  shall  or  shall  not  be  allowed  to  establish  snch^ 
an  influence  and  position — whether  by  occupation  or  otherwise- 
— in  Bulgaria,  as  to  make  her  eventually  the  complete  mistress 
of  Turkey  in  Europe.  It  signifies  little  whether  she  is  prepared 
to  enforce  her  actual  dominion  at  once,  or  some  time  hence* 
She  may  declare,  and  we  may  accept  her  declaration  as  sincer&y 
that  she  has  no  intention,  or  desire,  to  take  possession  of  Con- 
stantinople ;  but  this  declaration  can  only  apply  to  the  present 
time  ;  it  cannot,  and  does  not,  in  any  way  bind  her  for  the 
future.  Even  supposing  that  some  statesmen  in  Russia  look 
upon  the  acquisition  of  Constantinople  as  a  danger  to  the  ewr 
pire — which  we  are  inclined  to  believe  that  none  do  at  the 
bottom  of  their  hearts,  and  we  have,  moreover,  never  heard  •^ 
argument  of  any  weight  that  proves  that  it  would  be  dangeroo* 
to  her — still,  as  Nicholas  plainly  said,  events  which  cannot  P^ 
foreseen  may  hereafter  force  it  upon  her.  It  may  be  stat^> 
with  the  utmost  confidence,  that  the  possession  of  Bulgai^J*» 
that  is  to  say  of  all  that  part  of  Turkey  in  Europe  in  whiv 
the   Bulgarians  form  the  majority  of  the  population — ^that    ** 

fr^^ 


Tlie  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference,  291> 

from  the  Danube  to  the  Gulf  of  Salonica — all,  in  fact,  except  the 
part  east  of  Adrianople,  and  a  narrow  strip  along  the  ^gcan 
coast — must  inevitably  entail  that  of  Constantinople.  People  talk 
gUblj  of  allowing  Russia  to  possess  European-Turkish  Pro- 
vinces,  or   to  form  them  into  semi-independent  States  under 
Russian   protection,    and    of    making   Constantinople    a    free 
neutral  port  under  some  kind    of  cosmopolitan  ownership  or 
gOTemment,  and  under  the  protection  of  Europe.     The  utter 
failure   of  all  such  attempts  hitherto — such    as  the  Hanseatic 
Towns,   Cracow,  and    the  like  cases  —  proves  that   any  such 
vrangement    would    have    the    smallest    possible    chance    of 
wcciess. 

To  make  Servia  the   nucleus  of  a  great   Slavonic  state,  to 

"eplace  Turkey  in  Europe,  is  out  of  the  question.    Even  some  of 

those  who  were  her  most  ardent  admirers — both  sympathisers\in 

^g'land,  and  correspondents  sent  out  to  write  up  the  Servians 

—How  denounce  them   as  cowardly,  treacherous,  and  wanting 

^    the    qualities    necessary    to    a   great    independent    nation.. 

The  Czar  plainly  told  Prince  Milan  that  he  must  give  up  all 

wich  dreams  and  serve  Russian  aims  alone.     Nothing  can  be 

more  absurd   in  discussing  political   questions   than    counting 

upon  the  gratitude  of  peoples.     It  is  said,  '  Fight  Russia  with 

w    own    weapons ;    let     England    be    the    champion   of  the 

^pressed  Christians,  and  they  will  turn  to  England  and  not  to 

^^'Usia,  and  the  influence  of  Russia  will  be  then  destroyed.' 

Under  peculiar  circumstances,  the  Bulgarians  might  turn  for 

*  time  to  England,  but  their  sympathies   for  Russia,  founded 

**pon  religion,  language,  and  supposed  identity  of  origin,  are 

^  too  deep  to  detach  them  entirely  from  her,  or  to  allow  them 

J?  look  cordially  or  trustfully  to   England.      There  is    not    a 

:^ulgarian  priest  who  does  not  offer  up  his  daily  prayer  for  the 

-'^tiiperor  of  Russia,  and  no  one  can  have  read  the  addresses 

^^   the  Emperor  recently  published,  without  understanding  in 

^«at  light  he  is  looked  upon  by  the  Bulgarians,   and  by  all 

the    Greek   Christian    Slavs  of  the  Turkish  Empire — that  is^ 

^  the  head  of  their  religion  and  race,  and  even  something  more 

than  a  mere  mortal.     There  is  only  one  thing  that  could  coun- 

t^lUct  this  feeling — the  possible  progress  of  the  liberal  Protestant 

^^cation  that  has  been  of  late  years  introduced  into  Bulgaria. 

"^^t,  as  has  been  pointed  out,  Russia  will  take  care  that  this 

•hall  not  take  place.     The  first  use  she  would  make  of  the  pos- 

?^^8ion  of  Bulgaria,  or  of  the  establishment  of  her  predominant 

^fluence  in  the  country,  would  be  to  stamp  out  the  Protestant 

Movement,  and  to  put  an  end  to  all  Protestant  missions. 

It  may  then  be  taken  for  granted  that  Russia,  unless  checked 

hv 


300  'Hie  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference, 

by  England  and  the  other  European  Powers,  will  sooner  or  later 
possess  herself  of  Bulgaria.  An  occupation  of  the  province^ 
even  if  temporary,  must  lead  ultimately  to  this  result ;  aod 
the  possession  of  Bulgaria  must  end  in  the  occupation  of 
Constan  tinople. 

The  prophecy  that  Russia  would  eventually  possess  Constan- 
tinople is  as  old  as  the  tenth  century,*  and  its  fulfilment  has 
been  a  standing  fear  to  the  rest  of  Europe  for  generations  past 
This  would  appear  to  prove  two  things — that  Russia  belieret 
in  her  destiny  to  possess  that  great  and  important  city;  and 
that  European  statesmen  of  all  countries  and  times  (except,  of 
course,  Russians)  have  felt  that  there  is  a  most  serious  danger 
of  some  kind  to  the  rest  of  the  world  in  her  doing  so. 

Now  what  is  the  danger  as  regards  England  ? 

England  owes  her  safety,  her  position,  and  influence  amongst 
nations,  and  it  may  perhaps  not  be  too  much  to  say  her  veiy 
•existence  as  an  independent  nation,  to  her  superiority  on  the 
sea.    If  she  had  had  no  fleet  equal  to  compete,  not  only  with  the 
fleet  of  any  one  nation,  but  of  any  number  of  nations  that  conU 
hitherto  have  united  their  fleets  against  her,  she  would  have  lost 
her  naval  superiority,  and  this  would  have  been  fatal  to  her— to 
her  liberties,  and  to  her  peculiar  civilisation.    What  would  hav^ 
become  of  her  if  Napoleon  had  succeeded  in  destroying  her  fleet* 
and  what  might  have  become  of  Europe?     It  has  been  most 
rashly  and  foolishly  said  in  speaking  of  Russia,  that  it  would 
signify  little  whether  one  fleet  more  were  added  to  those  already 
•existing  in  the  Mediterranean  ;  and  that,  therefore,  the  posses- 
sion by  Russia  of  Constantinople  and  the  Dardanelles  would 
be  of  no  danger  to  England,  or  to  any  other  Power.     Such  was 
the   argument  of  Mr.  Bright    in   his   most    mischievous    and 
unpatriotic  speech  at  Birmingham,  and  it  has  been  adopted  and 
taken  up  by  others. 

Russia  can  only  require  the  command  of  the  Dardanelles  f<>'' 
aggressive  purposes — evidently  not  for  defensive  purposes.    She 
has  ample  means  of  defending  her  coasts  in  the  Black  Sea  with- 
out holding  the  Dardanelles.    For  all  commercial  purposes  they 
are  now  open  to  her,  as  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  their 
(perfect  freedom  of  passage  for  trading  ships  will  and  must  be 
maintained.     But  supposing  that  Russia  held  the  Dardanelles — 
and  she  could  not  hold  Constantinople  without  them,  as  the 
possession  of  the  one  must  include  that  of  the  other — what  would 
ner  position  as  a  naval  power  be  ?     She  would  have  no  further 
necessity  for  a  fleet  of  any  great  strength  in  the  Baltic.    She 

♦  Gibbon,  cliap.  Iv.  ,, 

wottltt 


The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference.  301 

)uld  concentrate  the  whole  of  her  naval  strength  and  resources 
the  Black  Sea.     She  would  enjoy  advantages  for  becoming  a 
leat  naval  power,  such  as  no  other  nation  ever  commanded. 
be  would  have  a  closed  sea,  in  which  she  could  train  her  sailors, 
ork  her  ships,  and  have  a  fleet  all  the  year  round,  going  through 
^eiy  manner  of  evolution  under  every  circumstance  of  weather, 
^ithout  interruption,  and*without  observation,  she  might,  in  the 
»UTse  of  time,  prepare  the  most  efficient  and  powerful  fleet  that 
is  ever  brought  together.     She  would  have  the  finest  and  most 
cure  harbours  of  the  world  beyond  the  reach  of  attack.     With 
B  Dardanelles  in  her  power,  she  would  defy  the  united  navies 
the  world  to  approach  her  fleet,  which  would  be  ready  at  any 
>inent  to  issue  from  its  strongholds,  and  to  retreat  to  them  in 
le  of  necessity.     When  we  are  told  that  her  navy  ought  not 
be  debarred  the  free  passage  of  the  Straits,  we  reply  that  she 
an  aggressive  Power,  and  we  are  thankful  to  be  able  thus  to 
rb  her ;  but  when  it  is  added  that  she  only  asks  for  an  open 
ssage,  we  refuse  to  give  her  the  power  to  close  it,  as  she  once 
mpelled  Turkey  to  do  by  the  Treaty  of  Unkiar  Skelessi  in 
33,  against  all  fleets  but  her  own.     '  I  cannot  understand,' 
id  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  writing  to  Lord  Bathurst  in  1826^ 
le  meaning  of  the  benefit  which  we  are  to  derive  from  the 
^hlishment  in  the  Mediterranean  of  an  efficient  naval  Power, 
iich  is  likewise  Continental.     Is  there,  or  can  there,  be  any 
Val  Power  that  is  not  jealous  of  and  inimical  to  us  ?     Can 
val  affairs  in  the  Mediterranean  be  better  for  us  than  they 
-  ?     The  Turks,  powerless  themselves,  close  that  sea  to  all 
^o  might  have  the  means  or  inclination  of  using  it ;   and  we 
e,  in  fact,  the  masters  of  its  navigation.'* 
V^ere  England  thus  disturbed,  in  case  of  a  general  war,  she 
Lght  find  a  powerful  fleet  united  to  those  of  her  other  enemies  ; 
d,  in  case  of  a  struggle  with  Russia  alone,  her  direct  route 

India  might  be  at  any  moment  threatened  and  intercepted. 

is  child's  talk  to  speak  about  measuring  the  distance  be- 
'ecn  the  mouth  of  the  Dardanelles  and  that  of  the  Suez  Canal 
^  the  map,  and  to  say  that,  as  it  is  so  many  miles,  therefore 
Uasia  cannot  get  there  in  time  to  interrupt  our  communica- 
^Hs  with  India.  It  is  useless  to  argue  with  those  who  main- 
^►n  that,  even  if  she  did,  it  would  matter  little  to  us,  as  we 
^uld  send  our  troops  round  the  Cape.  It  may  be  asserted  that 
'^  national  instinct  recognises  this  immense  danger  to  England 
"if  the  loss  of  India  is  to  count  for  anything — should  the  Suez 
^nal  fall  into  the  hands  of  Russia.     No  other  Power,  it  has 


*  *  Despatches  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington*  (new  series),  vol.  iii.,  p.  114. 

been 


302  The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference. 

been  well   pointed  out,  has  the   interest  that   Russia  has  in 
cutting  off  our  communications  with  India,  and  to  none,  conse- 
quently, would  it  be  of  so  much  importance  to  seize  upon  the 
ouez  Canal.     At  any  moment,  on  the   outbreak   of  war,  the 
Russian  fleet,  issuing  from  the  Dardanelles,  might  make  a  dash 
at  the  Suez  Canal.     If,  owing  to  the  absence  of  sufficient  force 
on  our  part  to  prevent  it,  Russia  could  only  hold  the  post  for  a 
short  period,  a  few  days  or  even  hours  would  enable  her  to 
close  the  canal,  by  sinking  vessels,  or  by  other  means ;  and,  be 
it  remembered,  its  closing  or  destruction  would  be  no  loss  to 
Russia.     Unless  England  constantly  maintained  a  fleet  equal,  if 
not  superior  to  that  of  Russia  in  the  Black  Sea,  in  some  secure 
place  from  which  she  could  intercept  a  dash  of  the  kind,— a 
plan  which  Lord  Palmerston  once  called  ^simply  a  numvaise 
jiJaisanteriey  and  which  would  add  millions  to  our  naval  estimates 
— this  danger  would  be  constant  and  perennial.   Are  we  to  occopj 
Besika  Bay  for  ever,  or  to  take  possession  of  Cyprus,  or  Crete, 
or  of  Egypt  itself — the  bribes  offered  by  Nicholas  to  Sir  H. 
Seymour  ?     It  must  be  remembered  that  the  Russian  fleet  could 
retreat  at  once  [if  necessary,  and,  once  through  or  in  the  Da^ 
danelles,  would  be  completely  out  of  our  reach.     No  nation  in 
the  world  would  have  such  means  of  using  its  fleet,  and  of 
protecting  it  when  not  employed. 

Constantinople  once  in  the  hands  of  Russia,  with  the  Darda- 
nellcs,  she  must  necessarily  possess  the  two  shores  of  the  straits 
and  the  whole  of  the  Sea  of  Marmora,  with  a  very  considerable 
portion  of  the  southern  Asiatic  coast  of  the  Black  Sea.  Where 
would  she  draw  her  frontier  line  in  Asia  Minor  ?  Could  she, 
even  admitting  her  desire  not  to  extend  her  territory  in  that 
quarter,  keep  to  any  line  that  she  might  draw ;  brought  into 
contact,  as  she  would  be,  with  the  Mussulman  population  of 
Asia  Minor?  What  has  occurred  in  Central  Asia,  where  those 
most  favourable  to  Russia  maintain  that  the  extension  of  her 
territory  was  absolutely  imposed  upon  her  against  her  will* 
proves  that  she  could  not.  Moreover,  there  would  be  Greeks  m 
the  cities  and  towns — in  Smyrna  and  elsewhere — and  a  hu?<* 
Armenian  population  in  the  east  of  Asia  Minor,  requiring 
Russian  interference  and  protection  against  Mussulman  oppf«*" 
sion.  At  this  moment  we  hear  of  serious  disturbances  »na 
Turkish  outrages  at  Van,  breaking  out  as  opportunely  as  usn>l ; 
and  Russia  will  never  want  for  a  like  pretext  for  intervention* 
Her  policy  is  mainly  Asiatic,  and  Constantinople  is  the  indi** 
pcnsable  key  to  the  Empire  of  the  East. 

In  short,  the  possession  of  Constantinople  must  inevitaWj* 
in  the  course  of  time,  lead  to  the  inheritance  of  the  Turkj^" 


The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference.  303 

Empire,  the  richest  and  most  important  part  of  western  Asia ; 
and,  as  in  Central  Asia,  there  could  be  no  barrier  at  which  the 
Russian  adrance  could  be  permanently  and  effectually  stopped. 
The  Turkish  rule,  after  the  fall  of  Constantinople,  would  be  so 
completely  discredited,  if  it  did  not  altogether  cease;  the  au- 
thority of  the  Sultan,  and  of  any  government  that  he  could  form, 
would  be  so  weakened  and  impotent ;  that  the  populations  of 
Asia  Minor,  and  of  the  mountainous  districts  of  Armenia  and 
Kurdistan,  consisting  chiefly  of  nomad  Mussulman  tribes  re- 
nowned for  their  lawlessness,  would  furnish  constant  pretexts 
for  the  further   extension   of  territory  on  the  part  of   Russia. 
Where  that  extension  of  territory  would  cease,  it  is  utterly  im- 
possible to  say.     Unless  England  were  prepared  to  reject  the 
counsels  of  politicians  of  Mr.  Gladstone's  school,  and  were  to  go 
to  war  with  Russia,  it  would  be  unchecked.     Mesopotamia  and 
Syria  would  follow  Asia  Minor.     The  progress  of  Russia  might 
perhaps  be  slow,  but  it  would  be  certain.    As  in  Turkestan,  she 
would  hare  wild  tribes  on  her  borders — Kurds,  Arabs,  and  the 
like.     It  would  be  necessary  to  punish  them  for  violations  of 
territory,   or   for   other  reasons.      Punishment   and   repression 
would    lead   to  annexation.      The   alternative   route  to    India 
by  the  Euphrates  and  Mesopotamia,  with    a  railway  through 
Asia  Minor — to  which  some  persons  look,  in  the  event  of  the 
Suez  Canal  being  closed  to  us,  and  which  many  regard  as  the 
future  road  to  India  for  all  quick  traffic — would  fall  into  the 
hands  of  Russia,  or  be  entirely  under  her  control.    Persia  would 
sooner  or  later  follow  the  fate  of  Asia  Minor.     In  that  country 
there  is  bad  government  enough,  and  Christians  and  others  in 
abundance  to  protect. 

It  may  be  said  that  such  vast  territorial  acquisitions  are  im- 
possible ;  that  to  suspect  Russia  of  aiming  at  them  is  ridiculous  ; 
as  if  the  world  had  never  before  heard  of  schemes  of  vast  and 
even  universal  empire.  But  any  one  who  will  take  the  trouble 
to  look  at  a  map  will  see  that  Russia  has,  during  the  last  few 
years,  acquired  an  extent  of  territory  in  Central  Asia,  quite  equal 
to  the  whole  of  Asia  Minor,  the  habitable  part  of  Persia,  and 
Mesopotamia.  Unless  there  were  a  combination  of  European 
Powers  prepared  to  go  to  war  to  oppose  the  acquisition  of  these 
territories  by  her,  it  could  be  effected  probably  with  as  much 
ease  as  that  of  the  vast  addition  that  she  has  made  to  her  empire 
in  Central  Asia.*  Could  England  alone  arrest  her  progress? 
And  if  she  could  not,  how  long  could  we  hope  to  keep  India  ? 

*  See  also  '  Progress  of  Russia  in  the  East.'    Fourth  edition,  1855. 

The 


304  The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference. 

The  commercial  policy  of  Russia  has  been  extremely  hostile  to 
British  interests ;  that  of  Turkey,  on  the  contrary,  faTOUrable. 
Wherever  Russia  extends  her  dominions,  she  imposes  a  tariff 
prohibiting  all  British  manufactures.  There  is  no  reason  to 
believe  that  Russia  will  change  her  commercial  policy — on 
the  contrary,  it  is  probable  that  she  will  persist  in  it  still 
more  strictly.  She  is  steadily  endeavouring  to  shut  all-  the 
markets  of  Central  Asia  against  us.  If  she  were  to  establish 
herself  in  Turkey  she  would  do  the  same  there.  The  possessioB 
of  the  Dardanelles  would  enable  her  to  command  the  whole 
commerce. of  the  Black  Seii,  including  the  high  road  to  Persia 
by  Trebizond  and  Erzeroum.  Turkey,  on  the  other  hand,  has 
entered  into  very  liberal  commercial  relations  with  us.  Every 
improvement  in  the  government  of  Turkey,  and  in  the  condition 
of  her  population,  which  would  lead  to  the  development  of  her 
resources,  would  add  to  our  trade  with  her.  Of  late  years  that 
tnido  has  increased  very  considertibly,  notwithstanding  the  state 
of  Turkey,  and  the  little  improvement  alleged  to  have  taken 
place  in  her  administration.  From  all  this  it  is  manifest  that 
the  possession  by  Russia  of  Constantinople  and  the  Dardanelles 
would  at  once  deprive  England  of  a  very  important  branch  of 
her  trade,  and  every  advance  of  Russia  would  diminish  that 
trade. 

The  presence  of  a  strong  Russian  fleet  in  the  Mediterranean^ 
protected  by  the  Dardanelles  whenever  it  needed  to  retire,  wool  A. 
be  a  constant  danger  to  all  the  maritime  Powers  as .  well  as  U>> 
England,  and  especially  to  those  that  have  colonies,  like  Spaii^ 
and    Holland,    in  the    Eastern    seas.      Certain   organs  of  th^ 
press,  which  urge  the  cause  of  Russia,  while  betraying  or  eveci 
avowing  a  full  consciousness  of  these  dangers,    keep  repeating 
that  they  are  contingent  on   events  remote,  and  consequently 
scarcely  worthy  of  consideration.     But  it  is  the  duty  of  a  states- 
man, when  the  highest  interests  of  his  country  are  at  stake,  to 
keep   in  view  such  dangers,  however  remote,  and  to  pursue  » 
p(»licy  anticipative  and  preventive  of  them.     Nothing  must  be 
Iclt  to    chance    when  such  momentous  questions  are    at  isa^^* 
It  is  better  to  err  on  tKe  right  side    than  on  the  wrong,  aJft^ 
no  man  in  his  senses  could  allow  the  destinies  of  his  coud'^T 
to  (U?pend  upon  the  theories  and  speculations  of  passionate  ^^^ 
impulsive  orators,  however  distinguished  they  may  be. 

Here  then  we  come  to  the  kernel  of  the  Turkish  qucsti-^ 
We    are    all    agreed    that    the   rule    of  the    Turk    is    bad   ^ 
oppressive,  and  must  be  abolished  if  it  cannot  be  fundaments* 
reformed.     No  one  worth  alluding  to  hjis  ever  wished  to  li  i 


The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference,  305 

for  tbe  Turk.  The  accusation  against  the  present  Government, 
or  ag^nst  any  other  government,  that  it  wishes  to  maintain  and 
support  that  rule,  with  all  its  faults,  abuses  and  crimes,  is  so 
great  and  notorious  a  calumny,  that  it  is  perfectly  astounding 
that  any  honest  man  should  have  made  it.  The  only  real 
difierence,  among  all  those  who  sincerely  desire  to  see  this  great 
question  brought  to  a  peaceable  settlement  of  some  kind,  is  as  to 
the  means  by  which  that  rule  should  be  thoroughly  reformed  and 
improved.  How  are  the  various  populations  of  Turkey  to  be 
well  and  justly  governed  ?  how  is  equality  of  rights  to  be  en- 
sured to  all.  Christians  as  well  as  Mussulmans?  how  can  the 
Turkish  Empire  be  administered  in  such  a  way  that  it  may 
secure  complete  protection  to  the  life  and  property  of  all  races 
and  sects ;  that  it  may  develop  its  great  resources,  and  recover 
sufficient  strength  to  maintain  its  independence,  and  to  prevent 
a  general  catastrophe? 

Numbers  of  schemes  have  been  propounded  of  late  with  these 

objects.     Every  one  who  has  the  slightest  acquaintance  with 

Turkey,  (and  a  great  many  who  have  none  whatever,)  has  his 

Peculiar  plan.     The  Turks  themselves  have  their  ideas,  extend- 

^"^gr  from  the  most  reactionary  to  the  most  liberal.     Reforming 

Sultans  have  published  quasi-constitutions,  which  ensure  to  their 

'Objects  of  all  creeds  every  right  and  every  liberty.     Though  we 

>iave  little  faith  even  in  Midhat  Pasha's  recent  Constitution,  yet 

the  very  fact  of  a  Turkish  Constitution  being  published  at  all 

**  of  great  importance.    Moreover,  it  contains  great  and  important 

^Ocessions  and  admissions,  and  forms  a  basis  upon  which  the 

*^^ropean  Powers   and    their    representatives   in    Turkey    can 

^ortj  and  in  this  respect  we  believe  it  to  be  of  great  value. 

*'   sweeps   away  at  once  the  assertion   frequently  made,  that 

}^^  Mohammedan  law  of  the  Koran,  as  interpreted  by  certain 

"'^lokammedans,  cannot   be   changed  or  modified,   and  that  it 

5**^uot  be  violated  without  the  downfall  of  Turkey.     But  there 

J*     Mot   a  Hatt  (or   imperial  decree),  and   scarcely  a   modem 

y^^itution  in  Turkey,  which  does  not  violate  tliat  law  as  so 

*^terpreted.    What  has  been  done  before  can  be  done  again.    We 

^^Ve  examples  in  Egypt  and  elsewhere  of  the  manner  in  which 

J^^ost  any  European  institution  can  be  introduced  amongst  a 

^Jphammedan  people  without  danger  or  serious  difficulty.     The 

^otammedan  law  is  therefore  no  real  obstacle.    If  the  European 

•  ^'WeA,*  parties   to   the  Treaty   of  Paris,   cordially    and    dis- 

*^tejestedly  act  together,  without  imposing  any  dishonourable 

J    ^^ditions  upon  Turkey,  there  would  be  no  great  difficulty  in 

^^oducing  into  the  country  such  reforms  as  are  necessary,  and 

VoL  148.— iVb.  285.  x  in 


306  The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference^ 

in  course  of  time  something  like  good  and  just  and  progressive 
government  would  be  obtained. 

The  very  first  thing  nec^essary  is  constant  diplomatic  pressure 
from  without  upon  the  Porte.     Such  pressure  must  be  friendly, 
but  very  firm  and  unslecpingly  watchful.    Much  of  the  misrule 
in  Turkey  results  from  the  ignorance  and  negligence  of  the 
central  government.     Turkish  ministers  are  generally  the  last 
to  hear  of  the  misconduct  of  local  authorities  and  of  the  suffer-* 
ings  inflicted   upon  those  who  may  be  at  their  mercy,     Th< 
Turkish  Government  is  not  upon  principle  and  intentionall 
a  cruel  or  oppressive  government,  but  it  is  weak,  and  nothin. 
can    be    worse    than    the    administration  in  all  its    branches 
and  to  this  weakness  and    bad    administration,   together  wiL       b 
the    corruption    that  prevails    amongst   the   governing 


from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  the  evils  of  Turkish  rule  ma^^3'} 

be  almost  entirely  attributed.     It  is  by  the  constant   pressuz^me 

on  which  we  have  now   insisted,  that  the   ignorance  may  l^M)€ 

removed,   that    the  bad  administration    may  be    gradually  p-^      «- 

formed,  that  corruption  may  be  checked,  and  that  the  subjec=^to 

of  the  Sultan   may  to  a  great   extent   be  protected  from  ac:^     ^ 

of  violence,  injustice  and  oppression.     There  was  a  time 

such  pressure  was  exercised  at  Constantinople  to  the  best 

most   humane  purposes   by  Lord  Stratford    de   Reddiffe, 

indeed  by  Lord  Ponsonby  and  others  who  could  be  named, 

its  results  were  in  the  highest  degree  satisfactory.     If  that  infl«-^" 

ence  did  not  accomplish  all  that  might  have  been  desired,  it  wsr^ 

laying  the  foundation  for  better  things.  But  Lord  Stratford  was       a 

man  of  great  energy ;  he  was  strongly  backed  up  from  home ;  tt*-  * 

Turks  knew  that  lie  had  their  true  interests  really  at  heart ;  ai^  <* 

Christians  and  all  other  sects  were  equally  convinced  that  t».c 

was  ever  ready  to  protect  them  from  violence  and  wrong.    ^^^ 

that  time  there  were  intelligent  and  trustworthy  British  Consim-l* 

and    consular   agents    in    all    parts    of    the    Turkish    Empir"*?. 

Scarcely  a  deed  of  violence  or  injustice  took  place  without  tl-i^ 

Ambassador's  l}eing  informed  of  it,  and  without  the  most  urgenf 

representations,  we  mi^ht  almost  say  threats,  being  made  by  hixn 

on  the  subject  to  the  Porte.     If  there  were  no  British  agents  iB 

places  where  the  Turkish  authorities  oppressed  and  ill-treat^ 

those  under  them,  and  where  deeds  of  cruelty  had  been  coDi- 

mitted.  Lord  Stratford  never  hesitated  to  incur  the  responsibility 

and  expense  of  sending  one  to  enquire  and  to  report  to  lum* 

There  was  scarcely  a  population  or  religious  sect — Mussulm*''? 

Christian,  or  heathen — that  did  not,  at  one  time  or  another? 

obtain  protection  or  justice  through  him.     When  the  Shia^ 

were 


Tfie  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference  SOT 

?  ill-used  and  plandered  by  the  Sunnis  in  Mesopotamia, 
as  throagh  Lord  Stratford'  that  they  obtained  redress.  He 
:  up  the  cause  of  the  Nestorians  after  the  massacre,  insisted 
Q  the  restoration  of  their  children  and  property,  and  upon 
punishment  of  those  who  had  cruelly  treated  them.  In  the 
Irs  of  the  Lebanon  he  was  the  foremost  in  securing  to  the 
?rent  populations  of  the  mountain  protection  and  just  govern- 
it.  He  did  not  confine  himself,  like  the  Russian  and  French 
bassadors,  to  protecting  any  particular  sect  or  creed — Greek 
Eloman  Catholic.  By  this  policy  the  Porte  and  the  Sultan 
iself — for  Lord  Stratford  never  hesitated  in  going  straight  to 
Sultan  when  he  thought  it  desirable  to  do  so — were  made  to 
•w  all  that  was  passing,  were  driven  into  doing  something, 
were  frightened  into  activity. 

io  English  statesmen  were  more  earnest  in  maintaining  this 
•ng  influence  and  constant  pressure  for  the  great  end  of 
arming  the  misgovernment  of  the  Porte,  than  those  who  are 
it  falsely  and  *  wickedly '  accused — we  borrow,  against  our 
I,  the  word  with  which  Mr.  Bright  constantly  reviled  their 
:ives  as  well  as  their  policy,  then  as  now — of  plunging  into 
Crimean  War  in  order  to  support  Turkey  with  all  its  abuses 
I  oppression  of  the  Christians.  Lord  Palmerston's  letter  to 
d  Clarendon,  written  in  1855,  proves  in  every  line  the  sense 
responsibility,  deepened  by  the  aid  given  to  Turkey,  to  do 
lething  for  the  Christian  subjects  of  the  Porte. 

9iT  DSAB  Clarendon, — What  remains  to  be  done  for  the  Noncon^ 
oists  in  Turkey  would  be,  I  apprehend,  speaking  generally — 

1.  Capacity  for  military  service  by  voluntary  enlistment,  and  eli- 
lity  to  rise  to  any  rank  in  the  army. 

2.  Admission  of  non-Mussulman  evidence  in  civil  as  well  as 
ainal  cases. 

8.  Establishment  of  mixed  courts  of  justice  (with  an  equal  number 
Jkristian  and  Mohammedan  judges)  for  all  cases  in  which  Moham- 
lans  and  non-Mohammedans  are  parties. 

4.  Appointment  of  a  Christian  officer  as  assessor  to  every  governor 
i  province  when  that  governor  is  a  Mussulman ;  such  assessor  to 
af  suitable  rank  and  to  haye  full  liberty  to  appeal  to  Constanti- 
»le  against  any  act  of  the  governor,  unjust,  oppressive,  or  corrupt. 

5.  Eligibility  of  Christians  to  all  places  in  the  Administration, 
ether  at  Constantinople  or  in  the  provinces,  and  a  practical  appli- 
ion  of  this  rule  by  the  appointment  of  Christians  at  once  to  some 
ces  of  trust,  civil  and  military. 

6.  The  toted  abolition  of  tbe  present  system  by  which  offices  at 
ostantinople  and  in  the  provinces  are  bought  and  sold,  and  given 
unfit  and  unworthy  men  for  money  paid  or  promised.  Such  men 
ome  tyrants  in  their  offices,  either  from  incapacity  or  bad  passions, 

X  2  or 


308  The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference, 

or  a  desire  to  repay  tliemBelves  the  money  paid  for  their  appoint — 
ments. 

*  There  ought  not  only  to  bo  complete  toleration  of  non-Hofisnl — 
man  religions,  but  all  punishment  of  converts  from  Islam,  whether^ 
natives  or  foreigners,  ought  to  be  abolished. 

•  Yours  sincerely, 

*  Palmsbstok.' 

Such  was  the  reforming  policy  of  the  statesmen  who  realli,^ 
felt  their  responsibility  arising  out  of  the  Crimean  War.  BuHi 
all  this  was  changed  soon  after,  and  for  the  change  some  o^n 
those  who  now  cry  out  most  lustily  against  Turkey  were  th^= 
very  persons  most  responsible.  Under  the  Governments,  o^ 
which  Mr.  Gladstone  was  one  of  the  leading  members,  the^ 
policy  of  *  non-intervention '  was  extended  to  Turkey ;  th^s 
British  representative  there  was  discouraged  from  interferin 
in  the  affairs  of  the  country ;  economy  was  the  order  of  tb 
day;  our  consuls  and  others  who  could  afford  informatio 
were  removed,  and  men  were  chosen  as  Ambassadors  for  Con — 
stantinople  of  a  very  different  type  from  Lord  Stratford.  Tc^ 
this  policy  and  state  of  things  may  be  traced  much  of  wha^ 
has  recently  occurred  ;  and  we  therefore  charge  upon  Mr.  Glad- 
stone much  of  the  responsibility  of  recent  events.  The  firs^ 
thing  now  to  be  done  is  to  restore  the  foreign  diplomatic  pres — 
sure  at  Constantinople  ;  and  if  it  can  be  exercised  by  the  repre- 
sentatives of  all  the  Powers  instead  of  by  one,  so  much  tk 
better,  provided  that  it  be  exercised  honestly  and  disinterestedly 
The  difficulty  of  getting  the  representatives  of  six  difieren 
Powers  to  act  in  the  same  sense  and  spirit  would  no  doubt 
great,  and  disagreement  might  lead  to  mischief;  but  it  may 
hoped  that  in  simple  questions  of  humanity,  just  government 
and  the  execution  of  the  laws,  upright  and  honourable  mei 
might  be  found  to  act  together.  We  believe  that  what  has  beei 
here  suggested  would  be  better  than  a  mixed  commission  sittin, 
permanently  at  Constantinople  to  watch,  direct,  and  coerce  th^^ 
Porte,  such  as  some  persons  have  proposed,  which  would  onl^y 
keep  up  perpetual  irritation  and  wound  the  pride  of  th^ 
Turks. 

The  next  important  step  to  be  taken  is  to  ensure  something: 
like  permanent  government  in  the  provinces,  and  to  abolish  tlxe 
abominable  corruption  which  has  hitherto  prevailed   at  Con- 
stantinople in  the  appointment  of  Governors.     It  is  hopeless 
to  expect  any  improvement  in  a  province,  while  its  Governor 
may    be  recalled    at   any  moment   when   a  candidate  for  hiS 
place   has  sufficient  money  to   purchase  it.     He   thinks  ooij 
of  profiting  as  much  as  possible  during  the  short  time  allovred 

to 


The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference.  309 

to  Him.  The  permanent  and  future  prosperity  of  the  province 
lias  no  interest  for  him ;  all  he  cares  for  is  to  fill  his  pockets 
at  tbe  expense  of  those  whom  he  is  sent  to  govern.  If  appoint- 
ments were  made  for  a  fixed  renewable  term,  dependent 
upon  the  conduct  of  the  Governor  and  the  condition  of  the 
provinces  committed  to  his  charge,  men  could  be  found — 
'whether  Turks  or  Christians  signifies  really  little — who  would 
administer  justly,  and  to  whose  interest  it  would  be  to  see  the 
province  committed  to  their  charge  improve  and  flourish,  and 
Its  inhabitants  remain  peaceable  and  contented.  Everyone  who 
IS  tbe  least  acquainted  with  Eastern  populations  knows  how 
much  depends  upon  the  man:  any  number  of  Hatt-i-sherifFs, 
Tanzimats,  and  decrees,  however  liberal  and  well-intentioned,  are 
absolutely  useless  when  compared  with  what  an  energetic,  just, 
and  wise  ruler  can  effect,  whether  he  be  a  Mussulman,  Christian, 
or  Jew. 

AVe  doubt  if  any  rule  ought  to  be  laid  down  as  to  whether 
tbe  Governors  of  provinces  should  be  Mussulmans  or  Christians. 
•■^e  best  man,  whatever  his  religion,  should  be  rhosen  for  this 
P^st,  and  the  Porte  could  scarcely  be  compelled  to  name 
governors  selected  by  a  Foreign  Commission,  or  by  any  foreign 
"oirer,  and  then  be  held  responsible  for  their  acts.  Moreover, 
tbere  might  be  strong  political  reasons  for  not  appointing 
^^rtain  men  to  certain  posts,  of  which  the  Turkish  Government 
^otie  could  be  the  judge. 

•Ve  doubt  the  efficacy  of  mixed  commissions,  whether  com- 
posed of  Consuls  or  of  persons  expressly  appointed  to  watch  and 
direct  the  authorities.     Such  commissions,  consisting  of  men 
^^   every  way  inferior  to  the  Ambassadors  or  other  representa- 
tives at  Constantinople  in  position  and  influence,  would  rarely 
1*  ever  agree,  and  confusion  of  the  most  mischievous  kind  would 
^Qsue.     Consuls  at  the  capitals  of  the    provinces,  and  consular 
^^nts  at  the  principal  towns,  would  be  quite  able  to  keep  the 
^^bassadors   and  their  Governments  fully  informed ;    and    it 
^oul^i  be  far  more  prudent  to  leave  action  and  interference  to 
those  Ambassadors  than  to  the  Consuls,  however  intelligent  or 
zealous  they  might  be.     Nor  should  it  be  forgotten  that  all  such 
^ttenipts  to  establish  a  controlling  authority  from  without  would 
^^d   to  diminish  that  responsibility  for  good  government,  on 
^^  ground  of  which  alone  Europe  can  call  Turkey  to  account. 
^*  genuine  reforms  of  a  constitution  can  only  be  wrought  out 
iroixi  within,  so  good  administration  can  only  be  hoped  for  from 
taose  who  feel  that  they  are  doing  their  own  work. 

The  next  great  eflTort  on  the  part  of  the  Powers  should  be  to 
Revise  means  for  placing  all  the  subjects  of  the  Sultan  on  a  foot- 


tncr 


810  The  Eastern  Qtiestian  and  the  Conference. 

ing  of  the  most   complete  civil  and  religious  equality.     The 
simplest  means  should  at  first  be  adopted  to  bring  this  about, 
without  too  great  interference  in  non-essential  matters,  which 
are  founded  upon  considerations  of  race,  religion,  tradition,  and 
other  special  characteristics,   which  time  only  can  effectoallj 
do  away  with.     Any  one  acquainted  with  Mohammedans  will 
know  what  these  are.     The  extension  of  the  conscription  to 
Christians,  as  well  as  to  other  sects,  and  their  service  in  the 
army  on  precisely  the  same  terms  as  Mohammedans — that  Ls 
to  say,  with  the  same  opportunities  of  rising  to  the  highest 
ranks — would  no  doubt  greatly  contribute  to  this   end.    T^me 
details  of  measures  to  this  effect — whether  Christians  are  to 
formed  into  distinct  battalions  or  to  be  incorporated  into  t 
same  battalions  with  Mohammedans,  and  so  forth,  are  matti      J3 

for  discussion  and  examination,  and  cannot  be  hastily  decid. ed 

upon.  The  same  is  true  as  regards  the  police,  militia,  a  jmI 
oth^r  bodies  of  that  nature.  The  opening  to  Christians  of  e  m- 
ploymcnt  and  advancement  in  all  civil  capacities,  and  in  all 

public  offices,  except  those  exclusively  connected  with  Moha m- 

medan  religious  institutions,  should  also  be  insisted  upon :  m^mjod 
on  this  point  there  are  no  real  difficulties,  as  some  of  the  higl^ — est 
posts  in  Turkey  are  now  held  by  Christians. 

A  code  of  civil  and  criminal  and  also  of  commercial  li 
applicable  alike  to  Mohammedans,  Christians,  and  all 
whatever,  is  of  the  highest  importance,  and  would  be 
of  the  most  effective  measures  of  reform,  and,  perhaps,  m« 
conducive  than  anything  else  to  the  establishment  of  perf"^^ct 
equality  between  them  all.  The  code  ought  to  be  prepa^^*" 
by  a  Commission,  such  as  prepared  the  Indian  code.  Uj^^" 
that  Commission  there  might  be  the  most  distinguished  Muss  tt-il- 
man  'jurisconsults,'  and  men  of  learning  and  experience  frc:^™ 
different  countries.  England  might  furnish  men  especial  v 
qualified  by  experience  in  dealing  with  the  mixed  races  frc^™ 
India ;  and  other  countries  that  have  colonies  or  possessic^^^ 
containing  large  Mussulman  populations  might  send  comnk^^ 
sioners  well  qualified  to  help  and  advise.  Such  a  code  coc^^^ 
be  made  applicable  to  subjects  of  every  creed — and  woi^^" 
be  far  more  valuable  than  any  Constitution  which  could  ^^ 
prepared  at  Constantinople  after  European  models,  embraci^^P 
all  manner  of  institutions  and  abstract  political  principl-^ 
totally  unsuited  to  the  population  for  which  it  is  intern 
We  have  had  examples  enough  of  the  uselessness  and 
trhief  of  such  constitutions  in  European  countries.  A  good 
founded  to  a  certain  extent  upon  the  '  Code  Napoleon,'  wi*^ 
such  exceptional    laws  as  would  be  necessary  in   the  case    ^ 

Mohammedans 


T%e  Eastern  Qaestion  and  tlie  Conference.  311 

Mohammedans,  Christians,  and  others,  in  matters  exclusively 
connected  with  their  respective  religious  creeds,  would  be  the 
greatest  boon  that  could  be  conferred  upon  the  Turkish  Empire. 
In  India  such  a  code  has  produced  most  excellent  results.  Of 
course  it  would  take  much  time  to  prepare — and  there  would 
then  remain  the  difficulty  of  carrying  out  and  enforcing  the 
laiv'  with  firmness,  justice,  and  impartiality.  This  could  only 
be  done  by  properly-trained  and  honest  judges,  and  by  mixed 
tribunals. 

The  Porte  should  also  be  induced  to  establish  colleges  for  the 
training  of  men  of  all  creeds  to  hold  the  office  of  judge.  This 
'Would  again  take  time.  But  the  reform  of  a  country  like 
Turkey,  particularly  in  so  essential  a  matter,  and  one  in  which 
such  deep-rooted  prejudices  and  animosities  are  concerned, 
cannot  be  accomplished  in  a  day.  In  the  meanwhile,  Eu- 
*^peans  might  be  associated  with  Turkish  judges  in  the  tribunals 
^t  Constantinople,  and  in  the  principal  cities  of  the  empire; 
^x*  Europeans  might  be  made  assessors  to  the  native  judges  in 
cases  connected  with  the  rights,  property,  and  lives  of  Christians. 
The  right  of  giving  evidence  against  Mohammedans,  and  in 
Mohammedan  courts,  and  all  other  questions  connected  with 
the  disabilities  of  Christians,  might  be  settled  in  such  a  code  as 
^c  have  indicated,  and  their  legal  status  might  be  fully 
^tahlished.  In  fact,  of  all  the  reforms  that  have  been  proposed 
for  Turkey,  none,  in  our  opinion,  would  be  more  important 
^han  the  compilation  of  a  good  civil  and  criminal  code  by  men 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  character  of  the  different  races 
and    religions  constituting  the  Turkish  Empire,  their  wants  and 

.   5**  prejudices,  and  who  have  had  experience,  like  our  Indian 
^^^'il  servants,  in  dealing  with  them. 

,A.  proper  cadastral  survey  of  the  land  in  the  Turkish  Em- 
Piro  should  be  made  by  competent  persons  ;  and  the  practice  of 
collecting  taxes  in  kind  should  be  gradually  modified  and 
abotislied,  and  a  new  and  thoroughly  well-considered  system 
^*  ^5*xation  should  be  introduced.  The  public  revenues  and 
^F^onditure  should  be  placed  under  European  control  as  far  as 
P^^ible,  as  they  are  now  intended  to  be  in  Egypt.  The  Porte 
^^^Id  be  induced  to  invite  such  assistance  of  its  own  accord, 
"et^rtlie  Great  and  other  sovereigns  have  civilised  their  peoples, 
?^  ^t  least  have  reformed  their  administration,  and  have  placed 
^^  'Upon  the  footing  of  other  nations,  by  employing  foreigners ; 
^nd  tijg  Turks  have  already  employed  foreigners  to  organise  and 
^^mand  their  army  and  navy.     There  is  no  reason  why  they 

should  not  also  employ  them    to    reform  their  financial    and 

Judicial  system. 

The 


312  The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference. 

The  principle  of  mixed  provincial  and  other  councils  for  I 
purposes,  composed  of  different  Christian  and  other  sects  (incl 
ing  the  Jews),  has  been  already  admitted  ;  although  for  vari 
reasons,  into  which  it  is  unnecessary  here  to  enter,  these  mi 
councils  have  not  been  as  successful  as  they  might  and  ought 
have  been.  The  non-Mohammedan  members  have  not  exercia 
their  proper  and  legitimate  influence  in  them,  and  have  shown, 
perhaps  for  want  of  proper  protection,  an  absence  of  honesty  sk^mcl 
independence.  Every  endeavour  should  be  made,  by  increasm  kk^ 
the  non-Mohammedan  members  proportionally,  according  to  'tibe 
population  that  they  represent,  to  render  them  more  independ^x^t 
and  to  give  them  more  influence.  It  may  be  doubted  whettm^r 
councils  composed  of  members  of  different  religions  and 
for  the  purpose  of  controlling  the  action  of  a  Governor  of  a 
vince,  appointed  under  the  conditions  that  have  been  sugges 
would  not  be  more  mischievous  than  useful,  for  they  would 
only  a  kind  of  petty  debating  parliament  interfering  in  all  pul^l^-^ 
affairs.  They  would  impede  business,  add  to  the  general  coO-" 
fusion,  and  be  used  by  the  Governor  to  shelter  himself  froi^ 
responsibility  and  to  evade  the  performance  of  the  duties  inca 
bent  upon  him. 

Measures  should  be  taken  first  to  put  a  stop  to  the  pulFl-^ 
wearing  of  arms,  to  be  followed  in  course  of  time  by  the 
plete  disarmament  of  the  whole  population,  except  those  requir 
to  carry  arms.    A  general  measure  for  disarmameat,  to  be  cani. 
out  at  once,  might  be  very  difficult  of  execution,  and  would 
to  disorders  and  grave  consequences  both  to  the  Christians  and 
Porte.  But  a  gradual  disarmament,  commencing  with  the  less  w^-*"^ 
like  and  dangerous  districts,  coupled  with  the  general  prohibiti 
of  wearing  arms  in  public,  might  be  enforced  without  danger, 
by  the  means  now  at  the  disposal  of  the  Turkish  Government- 
It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  enter  into  numerous  details  whi 
might  be  needful  to    complete  the  reforms  indicated.      Th^y 
would  all  depend,  more  or  less,  upon  the  recognition  and  adipp^ 
tion  of  the  main  principles  we  have  laid  down. 

But  everything  must  depend — and  this  cannot  be  repeated  t^^^ 
often — upon  the  pressure  brought  to  bear  on  the  Turkish  Gover^^^ 
ment  at  Constantinople  by  the  representatives  of  the  Foreig'^ 
Powers.  In  this  pressure  would  consist  the  best  guarant^?^ 
that  the  reforms  indicated  should  be  carried  out.  Such  a  gu^^'T 
ranteo  as  Russia  had  demanded — the  occupation  of  Bulgaria  ar»- ^ 
other  Turkish  Provinces  by  her  troops,  or  by  those  of  any  oth^^JJ 
nation — could  only  lead  to  dangerous  political  consequences,  ar* 
probably  to  future  wars.  As  we  have  pointed  out,  Russia  o^^^ 
in  Bulgaria  would   either   never   leave  it,  or  would   establi^^ 

amoQ 


The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference.  313 

igst  the  Bulgarian  populations,  almost  up  to  the  gates  of 
itantinople  and  Salonica,  an  organisation  and  influence 
would  render  her  future  possession  of  Turkey  in  Europe 
in,  and  a  mere  question  of  time.  The  temporary  occupa- 
of  the  Lebanon  by  French  troops,  which  has  been  cited  as 
xample  by  the  advocates  of  Russia  in  favour  of  a  Bulga- 
occupation  by  her,  can  be  easily  shown  to  bear  no  analogy 
ever  to  the  case  of  Bulgaria.  It  took  place  at  the  request 
le  Porte  itself,  far  from  the  capital,  in  a  wild  mountain 
n  which  no  one  desired  to  conquer.  Even  supposing  the 
eh  had  violated  their  engagement,  and  had  persisted  in  re»- 
ng  possession  of  the  Lebanon,  the  danger  would  have  been 
1  indeed  in  comparison  with  the  danger  of  the  possession  of 
aria  by  Russia.  But  it  may  be  stated  positively  that  Lord 
lerston,  although  yielding  to  the  occupation  of  the  Lebanon 
le  French,  was  by  no  means  reconciled  to  it,  and  that  he 
not  conceal  his  anxiety  that  it  should  be  discontinued  as 
as  possible. 

the  pressure  to  be  brought  to  bear  upon  the  Turkish 
^mment  the  representative  of  England  ought  to  play  the 

important  and  useful  part.  The  influence  of  England 
t  to  be  paramount  at  Constantinople,  and  would  be  so,  if 
srly  exercised    and  directed.      It  might  and  ought  to  be 

for  the  good,  and  in  the  interest,  of  Turks,  Christians, 
,  and  all  other  races  and  sects  alike.  That  influence,  men 
igh    position   in    England  have  unfortunately  done   their 

best  to  destroy  by  a  foolish,  irrational,  and  intolerant 
y  against  the  Turks ;  forgetting  that  whilst  it  never  has. 

and  never  could  be  exercised  to  uphold  and  maintain 
;ish  oppression,  cruelty,  and  misrule,  it  may  be  all-power- 
n  restraining  them,  in  ensuring  good  government,  and  in 
ning  justice  and  protection  for  all  the  subjects  of  the  Porte, 
lifiicult  to  understand  how  men,  calling  themselves  Liberals^ 
d  advocate  injustice  or  persecution  against  a  whole  race^ 
ly  because  that  race  is  not  Christian ;  or  that,  because 
ble  cruelties  have  been  inflicted  upon  Christians,  therefore 

more  horrible  and  wholesale  cruelties  should  be  inflicted 

Mussulmans  by  an  internecine  war,  which  would  renew 
uflerings  of  the  Christians  also,  and  would  only,  if  suc- 
il,  end  in  their  exchanging  one  master  for  another,  an 
lised  despotism  for  an  irregular  tyranny.  Although  these 
ns  may  deny  that  such  is  their  intention,  the  policy  advo- 

by  Mr.  Gladstone  in  his  untoward  pamphlet,  and  re- 
id  by  men,  happily,  of  little  consideration  and  influence  in 
ountry,  could  lead  to  no  other  result. 

Among 


314  Tlie  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference. 

Among  the  many  important  topics  we  are  compelled  to  pass 
over  is  the  vital  one,  which  the  agitators  seem  to  think  beneath 
their  notice  : — What  would  be  the  gain  or  loss  to  their  Christian 
clients  (setting  aside  the  millions  of  ^  anti-human '  souls,  who 
are  yet  keen  to  feel  patriotism,  to  enjoy  freedom  and  prosperitj, 
to  suffer  wrong,  and  to  resent  oppression)  by  the  substitution  of 
Russian  dominion  for  Turkish  sovereignty  ?    We  have  been  told, 
indeed,  that  in  Russia  there  is  law,  in  Turkey  there  is  none— a 
quibble  contrasted  with  a  falsehood.     The  law  of  Russia  is  sub- 
ject to  the  will  of  the  sovereign  autocrat,  and  never  hinders  the 
stem  punishment  and  secret  suppression  of  any  that  offend  him. 
Russian  despotism  is  more  organised  and  ruthless  than  Turkish 
oppression,  and  her  cruelty  more  systematic  than  Moslem  cruelty. 
The  one  is  the  decaying  remnant  of  a  patriarchal  despotism, 
which  admits  at  least  repeated  experiments  in  reform  ;  the  other 
is  a  comparatively  recent  and  carefully  elaborated  system,  which 
crushes  every  germ  of  freedom  (we  are  speaking  of  political,  not 
municipal  government),  and  in  its  arrogant,  though  but  seeming 
strength,  defies  the  external  influence  to  which  Turkey's  weakness 
has  always  held  her  amenable,  and  scornfully  denies  all  respon- 
sibility to  European  opinion  for  her  conquests  and  her  treatment 
of  the  conquered.     Turkey  has  tyranny  enough  to  answer  for  ; 
but  she  has  neither  a  Poland  nor  a  Siberia. 

England's  position  at  Constantinople  is  altogether  a  very 
peculiar  and  exceptional  one.  Considering  the  vast  number  of 
her  Mussulman  subjects,  it  is  necessary  for  her  to  have  greo-t 
influence  there,  and  to  be  thoroughly  well  informed  of  all  tha^ 
is  going  on  in  the  Turkish  Empire.  The  fact,  too,  that  her 
main  lines  of  communication  with  her  great  Indian  dependencies 
depend  to  a  great  extent  upon  Turkey,  renders  this  equally 
necessary.  The  amount  of  influence  exercised  by  the  Sultan  o* 
Turkey  as  head  of  the  Sunni  and  other  Mussulmans  in  Britisl* 
India  may  be  matter  of  discussion,  although  it  seems  now  to  b^ 
generally  admitted  that  it  is  great,  but  no  one  denies  that  i* 
does  exist  to  a  certain  extent.  And  that  it  prevails  to  a  very 
great  degree  amongst  the  Tartar  and  Turkish  races  and  tribes  in 
Central  Asia  we  have  never  seen  seriously  questioned.  This  i^ 
proved  by  Shaw  and  every  other  traveller  who  has  penetrate^ 
into  those  regions.  This  influence  may  be  hereafter  of  the 
greatest  importance  to  us,  should  events  require  any  action  on 
our  part  in  Central  Asia.  It  is  highly  desirable,  therefore,  that 
we  should  stand  well  with  the  Turkish  Government. 

And  our  influence  must  always  be  more  acceptable  to  the  Turf^* 

than  that  of  any  other  Power.     They  know  that  we  have  interests 

in  common,  and  that  it  is  to  our  advantage  that  they  shonM  ^ 

strong' 


The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference.  315 

mg,  independent,  and  prosperous,  and  we  can  make  them 
lerstand  that  thej  can  only  be  so  by  just  and  good  govern- 
nt,  and  here  we  have  additional  means  of  procuring  such 
remment.  We  have  no  designs  upon  Turkish  territory,  un- 
e  Russia,  who  must  always  be  suspected  at  Constantinople, 
1  who  can  only  therefore  exercise  an  influence  founded  upon 
r,  and  provoking  hatred  and  resentment.  And  the  very  excess 
those  feelings  may  lead  the  Porte,  by  a  natural  reaction,  to 
ATy  in  the  constant  strain  of  resistance,  and  to  throw  up  the 
me  and  herself  into  the  hands  of  Russia.  This  is  no  con- 
;tare,  but  a  fact  proved  more  than  once  in  various  degrees,  and 
•tably  when  the  deposition  of  Abd-ul-Aziz  only  just  anticipated 
B  treasonable  execution  of  an  engagement  made  with  General 
natieff.  Austria,  too,  may  be  suspected  of  territorial  designs, 
le  influence  of  France  is  now  much  less  than  it  used  formerly 
be,  and  it  was  chiefly  exercised,  from  interested  motives,  in 
half  of  the  Roman  Catholic  subjects  of  the  Porte.  Germany 
s  not  yet  taken  any  decided  part  in  Turkish  affairs,  but  it 
ij  be  presumed  that  as  her  position  in  Europe  becomes  more 
^ed  and  defined,  and  as  her  commerce  with  the  East  extends, 
e  will  be  disposed  to  follow  the  policy  of  England  as  regards 
irkey. 

All  these  considerations  ought  to  render  English  influ- 
ce  the  one  most  acceptable  to  the  Turks,  and  consequently 
lamount  at  Constantinople.  But  then  it  must  be  persistently 
d  energetically  directed  by  the  British  representative  there, 
d  this  can  only  be  done  if  he  be  firmly  sustained  from  home. 

is  most  unjust  to  condemn  Sir  Henry  Elliot — who  has  at 
^st  been  the  faithful  representative  of  British  policy  at  Con- 
^ntinople — or  any  other  English  Ambassador,  for  the  results 

the  policy  of  the  Government.  We  must  no  longer  hear  of 
"itish  consulates  and  vice-consulates  being  abolished  to  save 
few  pounds.  On  the  contrary,  we  must  increase  them,  and 
^d  energetic,  capable,  and  intelligent  men  to  fill  them.  An 
^glish  minister  must  no  longer  say  that  there  must  be  no 
terference  in  the  affairs  of  Turkey,  or  that  the  less  an  English 
presentative  does  at  Constantinople  the  better,  and  that  the 
Qrks  may  go  to  the  dogs  after  their  own  fashion.  We  have 
tic  hesitation  in  saying  that,  had  our  proper  influence  been 
^ntained  at  Constantinople,  such  as  Lord  Stratford  de  Red- 
iffe  had  established  it,  and  had  we  been  served  by  sufficient 
d  proper  agents  in  the  Turkish  Provinces,  the  evils  and 
sasters  which  threaten  to  plunge  Europe  into  a  general  war 
ight  have  been  avoided. 

There  is  one  more  point  to  which  allusion  ought  to  be  made 

ia 


816  Tlie  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference. 

in  connection  with  the  Turkish  question — the  great  danger  oi 
dealing  with  international  treaties  as  Mr.  Gladstone  propos^^ 
to  deal  with  the  Treaty  of  Paris,  and  the  no  less  grave  dang^rt 
of  establishing  and  authorising  by  precedent  violations  of  intc^' 
national  law.      According  to  Mr.  Gladstone,  one  party  to       ^ 
treaty  may  decline  to  recognise  its  obligations  with  impanit^^^t 
and  one  Government  may  of  its  own  accord  declare  a  trea^  J 
inapplicable  or   void  as  regards  another  of  the  parties  to  iiC^« 
and  a  publicist  like  Sir  William  Harcourt  puffs  away  with        & 
breath  all  the  rubbish  about  adhering  to  the  Treaty  of  1856^   ! 
Nothing  can  be  more  mischievous  and  more  fatal  to  the 
and  good  understanding  between  nations  than  these  doctrine*: 
It  is  astonishing  that  they  should  come  from  Mr.  Gladstone, 
was  at  the  head  of  the  Government  which  resisted  the  attemi 
of  Russia  to  violate  the  Treaty  of  Paris  with  respect  to  her  nai 
establishments  in  the  Black  Sea,  and  compelled  her  to 
the  principle  laid  down  in  a  subsequent  treaty,  that  one  Po^ 
cannot  of  its  own  accord  repudiate  any  part  of  it.     Other 
stances  might  be  given  of  a  similar  kind.     It  might  have 
hoped  that  those  who  advocate  universal  peace  and  good-wLIl 
between  nations  would  have  been  the  first  to  insist  upon  ttm« 
sanctity    and    inviolability    of    treaties.      Such    treatment  «:>f 
treaties — which  are  in  fact  the  only  firm  base  of  intemation2»l 
law  and  peace — is  a  feature  of  Russian  policy,  and  she  is  qnicr  Jc 
to  take  advantage  of  the  least  appearance  of  a  concession  to    mt 
on  our  part.     The  '  Moscow  Gazette '  lately  objected  to  a  pr^ 
posed  form  of  guarantee  that  '  while  quite  as  muck  at  varian* 
with  the  Paris  Treaty  as  the  more  effective  plan  announced 
Prince  Gortchakoff,  it  would  only  tend  to  elude  Russian  daif^^^ 
and  ignore  Russian  promises!' 

Prince  Bismarck  cynically  recommended  England  to  follo*^^ 
the  example  of  Russia  in  Servia,  and  to  make  an  ^  unofficial 
war  for  Turkey.     The  example  to  which  he  alludes  may  0E»* 
day  have  the  gravest  consequences,  and  Prince  Bismarck  ir«as 
not  the  man  to  omit  to  '  prendre  actc '  of  it,   as  diplomatists 
say.     Such  a  new  principle  in  international  law  may  lead  to 
serious  results  hereafter.     No  reasonable  man  can  believe  in  th« 
excuses  given  by  Russia  for  allowing  thousands  of  armed  men 
and  officers  to  pass  into  Servia,  join  the  Servian  army,  and  wag** 
war  against  a  nation  with  which  she  was,  outwardly  at  least,  H 
friendly  relations.     If  the  pressure  of  popular  opinion  is  to  1>^ 
accepted  as  an  excuse  for  such  conduct,  what  nation  might  not 
justify  similar  conduct  by  a  similar  excuse  ?    It  is  not  a  little 
surprising  that  Englishmen,  calling  themselves  statesmen,  shottlo 
not  only  attempt  to  justify  Russia  in  acting  upon  this  popnl*^ 

prc»n^ 


Hie  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference.  317 

pressure,  but  should  endeavour  to  make  use  of  a  similar  pressure 
at  home  to  drive  the  Government  into  a  war,  or  to  compel  it  to 
abandon  the  highest  interests  of  the  Empire.  If  this  pressure  is 
to  be  justified,  and  is  to  be  had  recourse  to  every  time  popular 
sentiment  and  emotion  are  excited  by  cruel  deeds  and  foreign 
misgovemment,  England  would  be  rarely  without  a  war  on  her 
liands.  Had  this  new  foreign  policy  prevailed,  England,  during 
tlie  last  few  years,  would  have  been  at  war  with  Russia  for  her 
treatment  of  the  unhappy  Poles,  far  more  shocking  and  system- 
atic in  cruelty  and  oppression  than  even  the  treatment  by  the 
Porte  of  its  Christian  subjects ;  with  Austria  on  account  of  her 
tyranny  in  Italy;  again  with  Austria  for  her  conduct  to  the 
Hungarians,  denounced  at  endless  enthusiastic  public  meetings 
in  England  by  the  eloquent  Kossuth.  In  fact,  there  is  scarcely 
^  crountry  in  Europe  with  which  England  would  not  have  been 
••^  one  time  or  other  at  war,  if  her  foreign  policy  had  been 
?^ided  by  spasmodic  outbursts  of  emotion  at  acts  of  cruelty  and 

The  apparent  exception  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Canning's  policy 
to^vards  Greece,  on  which  Mr.  Gladstone  has  elaborately  founded 
one  announcement  of  a  practical  policy  for  the  present  crisis, 
be  shown  to  have  exactly  the  opposite  meaning,  and  to 
^^^*Ty  most  forcibly  the  opposite  lesson.  On  his  entrance  to  the 
*^xeign  Office  in  1822,  Mr.  Canning  adopted  the  strictest  course 
^^  non-intervention  between  Greece  and  Turkey ;  and  that  on 
founds  precisely  similar  to  Lord  Derby's  reasons  for  the  same 
Course  in  relation  to  Herzegovina  and  Bosnia.  Whoever  will 
^^Oupare  Canning's  official  papers,   which  may  be  read  in  his 

•Life '  by  Mr.  Stapleton  and  in  the  *  Wellington  Despatches,' ' 
^ith  those  of  Lord  Derby,  will  not  only  enjoy  the  tracing  of  a 
^^xious  parallel,  but  will  marvel  at  the  audacity  which  cited  the 
?.^^  policy  as  a  condemnation  of  the  other.  Further,  it  was  not 
^*ll  Mr.  Canning  believed  that  Russia  was  prepared  to  act  by 
^^i^self  that  he  went  hand-in-hand  with  her  in  hope  of  effecting 
^  European  concert,  in  which  he  did  not  succeed,  though  it 
^^  reserved  for  Lord  Aberdeen  to  see  Russia  at  Adrianople. 

^bsit  omen  I ' 

There  is  scarcely  an  international  law  and  obligation  which 
*^^s  not  been  of  late  violated  in  respect  to  Turkey,  and  yet  one 
^^  those  who  maintain  that  even  the  greatest  and  most  vital 
^terests  of  England  should  give  way  to  the  claims  of  humanity, 
futures  to  exclaim,  *  Perish  British  interests  I  Perish  our  Indian 
"^JJapirel  rather  than' — not  to  provoke  another  evasion  under 
^he  cover  of  a  charge  of  misquotation,  we  adopt  Mr.  Freeman's 
?^vii  condensation  of  his  meaning  in  the  proverb — ^  Fiat  justitia 


318  The  Eastern  Question  and  the  Conference. 

mat  coelum.'     But  what  is  the  justice  of  the  case  ?     It  it 
to  learn  from  those  who  tear  up  treaties  and  justify  open  faiea 
of  international  law ;  but  certainly  the  injustice  with  whid 
speaker  and  his  friends  have  treated  Turkey,  and  would 
her  if  they  could,  exceeds  almost  the  greatest  violation  ol 
maxim  that  the  world  has  ever  seen.     The  whole   histoi 
the  Servian  war ;  the  way  in  which  it  was  brought  about ; 
manner  in  which  Turkey,  having  been   first   restrained 
using   the    means    at    her   disposal    to    anticipate    and    i 
invasion  and  unjustifiable  and  wanton  attack,  was  aften 
prevented   from    availing  herself  of  the  successes   which 
had  achieved  in  repelling  that  invasion  ;  the  Danube  c 
against    her    even    where    she    had    the   undoubted    rigl 
navigation ;   the  sympathy,  money  and  aid   in   men  givi 
the   insurgents   by  bordering   nations ;    and  a  thousand 
things ;  furnish  sufficient  proofs  that  no  nation  has  ever 
treated  by  civilised  nations  with  a  more  reckless  contem 
justice,  right  and  international  law.     This  is  not  said  o 
any  love  or  sympathy  for  the  Turk,  who  by  his  misgovern 
may  have  brought  the  greater  part  of  the  evils  that  he  has  su 
upon  himself;  but  out  of  fear  that  the  course  which  has 
pursued  towards  him,  by  nations  boasting  of  their  justice 
civilisation,  may  destroy  those  precedents  of  international 
and  those  principles  of  universal  justice,  by  which  the 
course  of  nations  is  regulated,  and  upon  which  alone  the 
between  them  can  be  solidly  founded,  and  weak  states  pres 
from  the  violence  of  the  strong. 

A  day  may  come  when  the  truth  of  what  is  here  stated 
be  recognised,  and  the  treatment  of  Turkey  may  be  dep 
Already  we  find  the  Russian  press,  acting  upon  Mr.  Glads 
suggestions  as  to  the  validity  of  treaties  and  internal 
engagements,  calling  upon  the  Russian  Government,  in  c; 
war  with  England,  to  arm  privateers  to  destroy  her  comn 
and  to  '  ignore '  this  and  other  stipulations  entered  into 
the  Great  Powers,  parties  to  the  Treaty  of  Paris.  What  t 
may  be  asked,  has  become  of  the  celebrated  *  three  rules '  i 
Treaty  of  Washington,  to  which  the  Government  of  Mr.  ^ 
stone  consented  so  as  to  justify  unjust  and  unprecedented  deo 
upon  his  own  country,  in  order  that  they  might  place  uj 
more  broad,  just,  and  equitable  basis — one  more  consistent 
the  advanced  civilisation  of  our  time — the  intercourse  < 
countries,  and  define  their  obligations  as  neutrals  ?  Will 
Gladstone  venture  to  say  that  these  rules  have  been  resp 
and  observed  by  Russia  in  her  conduct  towards  Turkey  ? 

It   is  needless  to  say  that  the  reforms  we  have  advo 

si 


The  Edstem  Question  and  the  Conference.  319 

ihould  be  carried  out  in  all  tbe  Turkish  Empire.  If  they  are 
o  be  limited  to  the  provinces  which  have  been  the  seat  of  the 
pecent  insurrections,  that  would  indeed  be  ^  a  patching  up '  of 
the  Eastern  Question.  The  Turkish  Government  might  be 
most  fully  justified  in  maintaining,  that  to  grant  privileges  to 
certain  provinces,  and  to  make  even  territorial  concessions  to 
them,  whilst  other  provinces  which  have  taken  no  hostile  part 
against  Turkish  rule  are  left  without  help  or  sympathy,  would 
only  be  to  encourage  future  insurrections,  besides  being  most 
nnjost  and  unfair  to  their  populations.  If  we  really  wish  to 
see  Turkey  reformed  and  made  strong  and  as  independent  as 
possible,  one  large  comprehensive  and  just  scheme  of  govern- 
ment, extending  to  all  her  subjects,  whether  in  Europe  or  in 
Asia,  should  be  devised  and  acted  upon. 

We  have  referred  above  to  one  most  ominous  confirmation  of 
these  remarks  in  the  case  of  the  Greeks,  whose  indignation  and 
i^esentment  are  already  shown  in  more  dangerous  forms  than 
their  urgent  memorial  to  the  Conference,  and  the  powerful  letter 
of  M.  Byzantios.  Just  as  the  Conference  had  made  the  begin- 
oing  of  their  Herculean  task,  they  found  the  first  smitten  head  of 
the  hydra  replaced  by  two  ;  and  each  step  promises  a  like  result. 
^cnrian  ambition  raised  the  Bosnian  and  the  Bulgarian  diffi- 
•ttlties ;  the  Bulgarian  has  provoked  the  Greek ;  the  attempt  to 
appease  the  Slav  rouses  the  Magyar ;  nay,  Slav  is  divided 
S&iiist  Slav  (as  to  all  who  knew  them  needed  not  to  be  foretold), 
^^  the  Slavs  of  Austria  are  excited  by  the  proposal  to  annex 
^^  of  the  chief  seats  of  the  Servian  race  to  Bulgaria.  The 
^rte  is  already  threatened  with  Greek,  Armenian,  and  Persian 
^^^stions ;  and  none  but  the  wisdom  of  the  ostrich  denies  the 
•J^dency  of  what  is  now  chiefly,  in  its  real  stress  of  difficulty,  a 
^^tion  between  Russia  and  Turkey,  to  become  Eastern  in  the 
"idest  sense,  agitating  the  whole  Mussulman  world,  to  the  very 
^*rt  of  our  newly-proclaimed  Indian  Empire. 

These,  and  far  more  numerous  complications  in  every  quarter 
^  the  world,  warn  us  of  the  necessity — not  of  attempting  to 
•^le  the  whole  question  at  once,  nor  of  holding  our  hands  from 
^^  partial  and  local  measures  imperatively  demanded  by  present 
^d  local  evils — but  of  so  dealing  with  the  case  now  urgent,  as  to 
^^e  a  step  towards  the  settlement  of  the  whole,  and  not  to 
^te  new  difficulties  and  dangers.  And  this  is  the  vital 
Terence  between  the  course  of  the  Queen's  Government  and 
1^  agitators;  between — what  is  almost  the  same  contrast  in 
^lier  words — the  English  and  Russian  schemes. 
^  As  to  the  aim  and  end,  there  is  at  present  but  one  alternative, 
Uher  to  destroy  Turkey,  that  her  government  may  be  replaced 

by 


320  Tlie  Eastern  Question  and  t/ie  Conference, 

by  Russia  or  Chaos^  or  rather  bj  BOTH,  or  to  maintain  her  iii<^^^ 
pendence  and  integrity  consistently  with  internal  reform  2».«^^ 
the  stern  suppression  of  injustice,  disorder,  and  misgoverning *^^* 
This  is  the  steady  English  policy,  consecrated  by  the  Treaty  ^^ 
Paris  as  part  of  the  public  law  of  Europe ;  and  it  underlies 
every  line  of  Lord  Derby's  despatches.  The  means  adopted  «■-» 
open  to  fair  criticism,  which  must,  of  course,  hit  some  blo'fc  ^ 
but  the  only  serious  objection  urged  by  moderate  opponents  J 
easy  to  meet,  nay,  it  has  been  met  by  the  event.  In  the  fa-«:? 
of  alternations  that  have  kept  us  on  the  rack  all  this  sea^st^i^i 
of  Christmas  and  the  new  year,  how  can  it  be  maintained  tla.  23 
a  more  perfect  concert  with  the  three  Northern  Powers,  c 
especially  with  Russia,  might  have  settled  the  question  a  jr 
ago  ?  What  wsls  the  concert  between  the  three  Powers  the 
selves?  What  was  the  consistency  of  Russia  even  with  hers^i^ 
who  seems  not  yet  to  know  her  own  mind,  or  her  means  ^^ 
giving  it  effect?  But  the  concert  was  tried  to  the  limit  *^ 
sound  policy  ;  and  its  ease  was  illustrated  by  the  failure  of  't.^t^-^ 
Andrassy  Note,  and  by  the  preparation  of  the  Berlin  Meixx  ^^ 
randum  behind  our  back.  It  was  Lord  Derby's  reluctance  "^^ 
join  in  impracticable  or  insidious  schemes,  the  best  of  wh£*^^ 
were  unseasonable,  that  left  the  Government  full  freedom  wim 
the  time  for  conference  and  decision  came. 

For  this  the  question  was  never  ripe  till  its  conditions  w^ 
altered  by  the  Bulgarian  massacres — which  Lord  Derby  was  ^1^* 
first  to  denounce  in  his  Despatches — ^by  the  Servian  war,  pa*"*^** 
cipated  in  by  Russia,  which  led  to  the  beaten  Servians  seek!        ^ 
our  good  offices ;  and  when  the  first  armistice,  which  we 
cured  by  the  strongest  diplomatic  pressure,  was  broken  in  con^^^ 
quence  of  the  Gladstone  agitation,  the  final  catastrophe  broug"^' 
the  question  to  a  head.     Then  again  Lord  Derby  obtained  tt*-^ 
existing  armistice  of  which  Russia  seized  the  credit  by  *forci^^^ 
the  open  doffe-.'     It  was  Lord  Derby  who  invited  the  Confercncr^^ 
framed  its  bases  on  the  ground  of  our  consistent  policy,  ar»^ 
obtained  the  consent  of  all  the  Powers  not  only  to  that  polic^^'* 
but  to  articles  renouncing  all  idea  of  separate  advantage,  and  ^-** 
the  schemes  put  forward,  whether  in  Russia  or  England,  agaiiB  ^^ 
the  independence  and  integrity  of  Turkey.     Thus,  by  the  co**'' 
sistent  action  of  our  Government,  Russia  herself  was  committ^?^ 
to  the  common  policy,  and  Russia  and  Turkey  were  both  broug*^^ 
face  to  face  with  Europe  at  the  council-table,  instead  of  kfpti^ 
to  front  upon  the  Danube. 


Airr. 


i 


THE 


QUARTERLY    REVIEW. 


Aarp.  I. — The  Works  of  Alexander  Pope.  New  Edition. 
XneJuding  several  hundred  unpublished  letters  and  other  new 
'nuUeriabf  collected  in  part  by  the  late  Rt.  Hon.  John  Wilson 
Cxoker.  fFith  Introduction  and  Notes.  By  Rev.  Whitwell 
Ellwin.  Poe^,  Vols.  I.,  II.  London,  1871.  Correspondence^ 
Vols.  I.,  II.,  III.     London,  1871,  1872. 

A  LL  that  this  admirable  edition  wants  is  a  conclusion.  It  is 
-^^-^^  the  last,  and,  in  many  respects,  the  most  important  con- 
^bution  to  what  has  been  for  one  hundred  and  thirty-three  years 
^  kind  of  Eastern  Question  of  criticism,  the  dispute  as  to  the 
'^^^  character  and  genius  of  Pope.  Mr.  Elwin  has  collected 
UiUer  materials,  and  possesses  in  himself  finer  qualifications, 
^^  ^writing  the  life  of  the  poet  than,  perhaps,  any  of  his  pre- 
^^^essors ;  but  he  has  not  written  it  Whatever  is  best  in  the 
^i-oions  of  earlier  critics  is  preserved  in  his  Notes;  much 
I^^Oable  criticism  of  his  own  is  embodied  in  his  Prefaces ;  but 
*^«  lias  given  us  no  survey  of  Pope's  powers  as  a  whole.  His 
^^tion  is,  in  a  sense,  the  supplement  to  that  of  Bowles ;  and 
^^Wles,  more  through  circumstances  than  inclination,  was  a 
P^itisan.  In  Mr.  Elwin's  trenchant  criticisms  on  his  author, 
!f|^  Seem  to  be  spectators  of  a  battle,  at  the  side  of  a  Greneral  of 
T^^ision.  We  see  positions  carried  and  retained;  brilliant 
^^^x^ges;  glimpses  of  other  parts  of  the  field,  which  show  us 
'*^t  the  movement,  in  which  we  are  engaged,  is  part  of  a  con- 
P^^'ted  plan  ;  but  of  the  general  state  of  affairs  we  are  unable  to 
l^^ge.  The  history  of  the  question  is  sufficiently  interesting  to 
l^^tify  us  in  supplying  briefly  the  links  of  information  necessary 
"^  the  perfect  appreciation  of  Mr.  Elwin's  work. 
^  l^welve  years  after  Pope's  death,  Joseph  Warton  published  the 
^^^  Yolnme  of  his  ^  Essay,'  the  design  of  which  was  to  show  that 

^pe's  compositions,  regarded  as  poetry,  were  not  of  a  ^  genuine ' 

^^'^^er.     The  second  volume  was  long  withheld,  either,  as  Johnson 

Vol.  143.^iVb.  286.  T  suggested 


322  Mr.  Elwin'«  Pope. 

suggested  to  Boswell,  in  1763,  because  the  author  *  was  a  littE'.^lic 
disappointed  at  not  having  been  able  to  persuade  the  world  CK*  tc 
be  of  his  opinion,'  or,  as  Mr.  Elwin  supposes,  because  Warto^cz3»oi 
was  afraid  of  Warburton,  Pope's  friend  and  commentator,  wfa^z^RK 
had  caused  his  first  volume  to  be  handled  with  considerabE^  ^cdI 
severity.  In  due  time,  however,  the  work  was  completed  ;  am 
in  1805,  Bowles,  the  poet,  a  pupil  of  Warton  at  Wincheste 
published  his  well-known  edition,  in  which  he  developed  aoKnK'Ji 
fortified  his  old  master's  theory  of  poetry,  and  entered  at  moar^^c^i 
detail  than  his  predecessors  into  disputed  points  relative  ^  t 
Pope's  life  and  character.  For  this  he  was  called  to  account  b— B'  b 
Byron,  who,  in  his  ^English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers' 
pronounced  him  ^  the  worst  of  critics,'  and  accused  him 
doing  ^  for  hate  what  Mallett  did  for  hire.' 

Bowles,  for  whatever  reason,  let  the  attack  pass  at  the 
and  the  matter  slept  till  1820,  when  an  article  in  this  *  Review 
(written,  as  is  well  known,  by  Isaac  D'Israeli)  on  *Speno 
Anecdotes  of  Books  and  Men,'  stirred  the  controversy  afretB^^*^ 
A  letter  from  Lord  Byron,  then  at  the  height  of  his  fame, 
remarks  by  Campbell  in  a  Preface  to  his  ^Specimens  of 
British  Poets,'  and  the  insults  of  a  whole  host  of  minor  assalE 
ants,  brought  Bowles  into  the  field  in  defence  of  his  conduc^^^-^ 
He  encountered  his  numerous  antagonists  with  g^reat  vigour  an* 
acuteness,  and  for  six  years  there  raged  a  war  of  pam] 
ended  at  last  by  a  single  combat  between  Bowles  and 
(whose  edition  of  the  poet  had  meantime  appeared),  in  whicE 
the  latter  was  conspicuously  worsted. 

Bowles  complained  that  the  only  two  of  his  opponents  by  whonr 
he  was  treated  with  combion  courtesy  were  Byron  and  CampbelK^  -^ 
On  a  reconsideration  of  the  part  which  the  *  Quarterly  Review 
played   in  this  qujurel,  we  find  little  in  Mr.  D'Israeli's  articli 
which  any  one,  who  was  not  inclined  to  be  garrulous  and  testy,- 
and  Bowles  with  many  admirable  qualities  seems  to  have  beei 
a  little  of  both, — had  any  cause  to  resent.     But  the  strategj^^T^ 
adopted  by  some  of  Pope's  more  obscure  champions  was  as 
as  it  was  absurd.     Bowles  had   been  liberal  in  his  praise  o^ 
Pope's  poetical  genius.    Though  he  had  exercised  his  undoubted—- -^J 
right  as  a  biographer  to  judge  of  the  poet's  character  by  hi^  --* 
actions,  he  had  put  upon  these,  whenever  he  thought  it  possible^' 
a  charita])le  construction,  and,  even  at  the  worst,  had  ref 
them  to  motives  which  no  man,  with  any  self-knowledge, 
afford  to  despise.     But  the  poet's  advocates  had  made  up  theii 
minds  that  there  wsus  a  diabolical  conspiracy  against  his  repu- 
tation ;  that  his  friends  were  therefore  bound  to  prove  him 
have  been  incapable  of  wrong-doing ;  that  no  doubt  was  to 

•dmittecT 


Mr.  Elwin'«  Pope.  323 

admitted,  even  as  to  those  parts  of  his  conduct  which,  by  the 
common  consent  of  his  own  contemporaries,  had  been  mildly 
jiidged  to  be  ambiguous ;  and  that,  as  he  was  beyond  all  question 
an  inspired  saint,  his  editor  was,  by  necessary  consequence,  a 
scoundrel  and  a  fool.  It  would  have  been  better  for  Pope  if 
they  had  remembered  a  remark  of  Johnson  in  reference  to  his 
Preface  to  *  Shakespeare ' :  *  We  must  confess  the  faults  of  our 
favourite  in  order  to  gain  credit  to  our  praise  of  his  excellence. 
He  that  claims,  either  for  himself  or  for  another,  the  honours  of 
perfection,  will  surely  injure  the  reputation  he  designs  to  assist.' 
The  most  significantfcomment  on  the  tactics  of  Pope's  partisans 
against  Bowles's  edition,  is  the  appearance  of  the  edition  of 
Mr.  Elwin. 

One  of  the  points  of  debate  between  Bowles  and  his  oppo- 
nents, the  one  on  which,  perhaps,  the  latter  spoke  with  most 
confidence,  was  the  question  as  to  the  clandestine  publication  of 
Pope's  correspondence.  This  point  has  been  now  placed  by 
Mr.  Elwin  beyond  the  reach  of  controversy.  By  the  help  of  the 
collections  of  Mr.  Croker,  the  investigations  of  the  late  Mr*. 
Dilke,  published  in  the  '  Athenaeum,'  and  his  own  lucid  ar- 
rangement and  exhaustive  reasoning,  Mr.  Elwin  proves  to 
demonstration  that  the  mysterious  P.  T.  and  Smythe,  whose 
negotiations  with  Curll  led  to  the  printing  of  the  surreptitious 
and  authorised  volumes  of  ^  Correspondence '  in  1735  and 
1737,  can  have  been  no  other  than  Pope  and  his  agents.  This 
has  been  all  along  more  than  suspected.  But  Mr.  Elwin  has 
another  indictment  against  the  poet.  He  brings  the  strongest 
presumptive  evidence  to  show  that  the  volume  of  *  Corre- 
spondence' between  Pope  and  Swift,  published  in  Dublin 
in  1741,  at  the  instance,  as  has  been  hitherto  supposed,  on 
Pope's  authority,  of  the  Dean,  was  in  reality  printed  by  the 
craifty  contrivance  of  Pope.  And  he  further  shows  that  when- 
ever Pope  thought  the  efifect  of  his  composition  would  be  height- 
■ened  with  the  public,  he  never  hesitated  to  alter  or  amplify  the 
original  text,  to  change  the  dates,  and  even  to  transfer  whole 
passages  from  one  letter  to  another.  How  much  Mr.  Elwin  has 
•done  in  completing  the  collection  of  the  poet's  correspondence 
may  be  gathered  from  his  own  statement : — 

'  The  last  edition  published  in  the  lifetime  of  Pope  contained, 
according  to  Mr.  Croker's  calculations,  854  letters.  These,  Mr.  Croker 
states,  were  increased  by  Warburton  to  884 ;  by  Warton  to  502 ;  by 
Bowles  to  644 ;  and  by  Eoscoe  to  708,  or  exactly  double  the  number 
that  were  included  in  the  last  edition  of  the  poet.  The  present 
edition  will  contain  more  new  letters  than  were  collected  by  War- 
burton,  Warton,  Bowles,  and  Boscoe  combined ;  and  many  of  them 

T  2  are 


324  Mr.  Elwin'*  Pope. 

are  of  immeasurably  greater  importance  in  determining  the  charaotex:^ 
of  Pope  than  any  that  haye  yet  appeared.' 

This  passage  speaks  for  itself ;  but  just  when  he  has 
our  expectations  most  highly  the  editor  stops  short.     Is  the 
racter  of  Pope,  indeed,  determined  by  Mr.  Elwin's  discoveri 
in  the  matter  of  the  correspondence  ?     Is  his  guilt  in  this  am 
other  actions  of  his  life  so  utterly  monstrous,  as  to  warrant 
biographer  in  painting  his  portrait  in  such  colours  as  Soetonii 
employs  on  the  character  of  Caligula  ?     Mr.  Elwin  leaves  as  i 
little  doubt  as  to  his  own  opinion,  for  he  quotes  with  approvaf 
the  famous  description  of  Macaulay : — 


*  Pope's  whole  life  was  one  long  series  of  tricks  as  mean 
malicious  as  that  of  which  he  had  suspected  Addison  and  Tidcdl 
He  was  all  stiletto  and  mask.    To  injure  and  insult,  and  to  flave  kim;^. 
self  from  the  consequences  of  injury  and  insult  by  lying  and  eqoifo^ 
eating,  was  the  habit  of  his  life.' 

This  may  be,  of  course,  sober  philosophical  truth,  and  noft'<^ 
merely  an  artful  device  of  rhetoric,  on  Macaulay's  part,  tin^ 
brighten  the  character  of  Addison  by  blackening  that  of  Pope. 
But  if  Mr.  Elwin  had  written  a  connected  life  of  Pope,  he  " 

have  told  us  in  this  case  what  to   think   of  the  evidence  o: 
Bolingbrokc,  Pope's  most  intimate  friend,  who  exclaimed  by 
death-bed :  ^  I  never  in  my  life  knew  a  man  who  had  so 
a  heart  for  his   particular  friends,  or  a  more  general  fxiend 
ship  for  mankind.'     The  colouring  here  is  quite  as  strong 
Macaulay's,   and,  besides  the  corroborative  evidence  of  Ch< 
terfield,  it  would  be  easy  to  justify  it  by  what  is   known  o 
Pope.     His  generous  support  of  Savage ;  the  interest  he  showed 
in  Johnson's  behalf,  at  a  time  when  the  latter's  ^  London ' 
thought   by  many  to  divide  the  honours  with  the  ^  Imitations  o 
Horace ; '  above  all,  his  unwearied  devotion   to  his   parents ;  ^ 
these  are  facts  quite  as  well  authenticated  as  the  secret  publica-    ^ 
tion  of  his  own  correspondence,  his  ing^titude  to  the  Dnke  of 
Chandos,  and  his  defamation  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montague. 
Are  we  to  believe  that  a  man  who  lived  in  the  most  affectionate 
intimacy  with  the  honourable  Arbuthnot  was  cdl  mask  ?     That 
one  of  the  dearest  friends  of  the  chivalrous  Atterbury  was  off 
stiletto  ?     And  as  to  the  charge  that  insult  and  injury  was  the 
one  habit  of  his  life,  that  is  sufficiently  met  by  a  refeienoe  to 
his  studious  and  solitary  inclinations,  his  devotion  to  his  ait, 
and   the   generally    sound    and   wholesome    character    of   his 
poetry. 

Pope's  character,  it  is  evident,  is  one  of  remarkable  com- 
plexity. 


( 


Mr.  Elwin'5  Pope.  325 

[exitj.*  No  partiality  can  extenuate  those  actions  of  meanness 
id  malignity  of  which,  under  the  prompting  of  a  morbid  self- 
►ve,  he  was  frequently  guilty.  On  the  other  hand,  we  think  that 
e  has  been  regarded  with  too  severe  an  antipathy,  and  that  his 
aod  points  have  been  too  lightly  valued,  by  his  latest  editor. 
ITe  have  no  space  on  the  present  occasion  to  pursue  farther  this 
iteresting  but  perplexed  part  of  the  question.  But  it  is  probable 
tiat,  with  all  the  fresh  materials  which  Mr.  Elwin  has  placed  at 
ur  disposal,  future  biographers  of  the  poet  will  see  little  cause 
0  make  any  large  alterations  in  the  outlines  of  the  portrait  so 
igorously  painted  in  Johnson's  admirable  *  Life.' 

In  any  case  our  view  of  Pope's  character,  wherever  it  may  lead 
IS,  ought  not  to  be  allow'ed  to  interfere  with  our  judgment  of  his 
penius.  His  character  belongs  to  himself  alone,  pledged  though 
is  admirers  must  always  be  to  uphold  his  credit  as  far  as  reason 
Hows.  His  poetry,  on  the  other  hand,  belongs  to  his  country, 
nd  it  is  of  the  highest  importance,  not  merely  as  a  point  of 
bstract  criticism,  but  with  a  view  to  the  existing  condition  of 
»ur  language,  that  the  value  of  his  poetical  performances  should 
le  justly  ascertained.  Mr.  Elwin's  criticism  is  of  a  kind  with 
rhich,  in  these  days  of  flimsy  metaphysic,  it  is  a  pleasure  to 
lecome  acquainted  and  a  misfortune  to  disagree.  To  many  of 
lis  remarks  we  give  our  hearty  assent ;  to  as  many  more  we 
[ecidedly  demur ;  and  the  general  position  from  which  he  makes 
lis  frequent  attacks  on  the  poet  we  shall  proceed  to  examine, 
lut  in  order  to  appreciate  the  strength  of  this  position,  we 
ught  to  have  an  understanding  of  the  earlier  phases  of  the  great 
kuti-Pope  struggle  which  have  prepared  the  way  for  the  latest 
ttack. 

The  first  issue  in  the  combat,  as  raised  by  Warton,  was  one 
rhich  we  make  bold  to  say  ought  never  to  have  been  raised 
t  all.  His  main  proposition  is  thus  stated  in  his  ^  Essay  on 
he  Genius  and  Writings  of  Pope ' : 

*  I  respect  and  honour  his  abilities,  but  I  do  not  think  him  at  the 
lead  of  his  profession.  In  other  words,  in  that  species  of  poetry  in 
rhich  Pope  excelled,  he  excelled  all  mankind ;  and  I  only  say  that 
his  species  of  poetry  is  not  the  most  excellent  one  of  the  art.' 

*  Mr.  Elwin  in  plain  terms  condemnB  Pope  as  a  hypocrite ;  and  that  his  (ustions 
reve  often  in  glaring  contrast  with  his  professions  is  undeniable.  But  he  was 
ot  a  hypocrite  in  the  sense  in  which  Joseph  Surface  was  one.  He  really  loved 
irtne,  but  he  loved  himself  better.  The  extraordinary  extent  to  which  he  was 
apable  of  self-deception  is  shown  by  his  declaration  to  Swift  (Letter  14,  vol.  vii.), 
bat  he  intended  *  writing  a  set  of  maximfl  in  opposition  to  all  Rochefoucauld's 
•rinciples.'  Pope  could  never  have  hoped  to  deceive  Swift,  and  yet  the  principles 
y  whi^  his  own  conduct  was  frequently  if  not  always  regulated,  were  those  of 
lochefoocauld. 

The 


326  Mr.  Elwiii'5  Piype. 

The  proposition  one  would  suppose  was  self-evident.  *  It  is 
high/  said  a  writer  in  this  *  Review/  which  sided  with  the 
champions  of  Pope,  ^perhaps  the  very  highest,  in  the  second 
class,  that  we  rank  the  poetic  genius  of  Pope.**  No  capable 
judge  would  think  of  contending  that  the  poetry  of  Horace  and 
Pope  was  equal  in  order  to  that  of  Virgil  and  Milton,  any  xnoie 
than  that  there  was  no  difference  in  the  order  of  the  faculties  to 
which  the  two  sets  of  poets  severally  appeal.  But  in  proof  of 
his  thesis  on  which  everybody  was  agreed,  Warton  proceeded 
to  make  use  of  arguments  which  practically  stripped  Pope  of  all 
claims  to  poetical  merit. 

*  The  epistles  of  Boileau  in  rhyme  are  no  more  poetical  than  the 
characters  of  La  Bruy^ro  in  prose ;  and  it  is  a  creative  and  glowing 
imagination,  '*acer  spiritns  ac  vis,"  that  alone  can  stamp  a  writer 
with  this  exalted  and  very  uncommon  character,  which  bo  few 
and  of  which  so  few  can  properly  judge.' 

And  again  :— 

*■  The  sublime  and  the  pathetic  are  the  two  chief  nerves  of  iD 
genuine  poesy.    What  is  there  sublime  or  pathetic  in  Pope  ?' 

Thus  in  one  sentence  we  are  told  that  Pope  was  the  m< 
admirable  master  in  a  particular  order  of  poetry,  which  wt 
only  not  the  highest ;  and  in  the  next  we  are  assured  that  thr 
order   is   not   ^  genuine  poesy '   at  all.      Such   a   confusion 
thought  we  might  think  sufficiently  exposed  by  Johnson's  qis.^^-^- 
tion,  *  Who  is  a  poet  if  Pope  be  not?'     Warton,  however,  foim""^^ 
a  backer  in  Bowles,  who  undertook  to  establish  his  proposit^—^^ 
by  the  following  process  of  demonstration  : — 

*  If  my  positions  are  true,  that  images  drawn  from  the  sublime  _  _ 
beautiful  are  more  poetical,  that  is  (to  avoid  cavil)  more  tidapie^^^^.. 
the  highest  order  of  poetry  than  any  works  of  art ;  and  further,  i^^^^  ^ 
be  true  that  passions,  including  all  that  is  sublime  in  sentiment  ^^^ 
affectiug  in  pathos,  are  more  poetical  than  manners  of  life ;  P'ovic^^^lj^ 
always  that,  in  estimating  the  rank  of  the  respective  poets,  regi^^'^^ 
should  be  had  to  the  subject  and  the  execution ;  then  the  poet  w  i^^^  „ 
had  conceived  an  epic  like  "  Paradise  Lost,"  or  dramas  like  "  Leas^^^'^'n 
«  Macbeth,"  "  OtheUo,"  "  Tempest,"  "  Midsummer  Night's  Drean^:*^*^ 
"  As  You  Like  It,"  would  be  placed  higher  in  the  rank  of  his  — 
than  he  who  had  written  any  satires,  moral  epistles — one  the 
pathetic  and  beautiful  in  this  stylo  of  poetry,  one  heroi-oomical 
unrivalled  in  the  world — with  whatever  consummate  felicity  of  ex( 
tion  all  or  any  of  these  poems  might  bo  finished.' 

Round  the  position  thus  developed  by  Bowles  the  battle 


♦  'Quarterly  Review,*  July,  1825. 


th 


i 


Mr.  Elwin'f  Pope.  327 

with  fiiry.     *  Bowles/  says  Mr.  El  win,  *  got  an  easy  victory  over 

all  his  assailants/     If  he  did,  it  was  owing  to  his  assailants' 

Uunders,  not  to  the  strength  of  his  own  reasoning.     The  fact  is 

not  one  of  his  adversaries  detected  his  weak  point.    ^  By  poetical 

images,'  said  he,  ^  I  mean  images  adapted  to  the  highest  kind 

of  poetry.'     The  petitio  principii  appears  so  glaring  that  it  is 

difficult  to  understand  how  it  can  have  been  overlooked.     But 

overlooked  it  was.     Byron  ventured  to  maintain  the  paradox 

'that  images  drawn  from  art  were  better  adapted  for  poetry  than 

images  drawn  from  nature.     Campbell  contended  that  objects 

of  art  were  as  poetical  as  objects  of  nature ;  and  that  nature 

included   manners   as  well   as  passions.      A   third   disputant, 

lacked  by  Campbell,  accused  Bowles  of  saying,  which  he  did 

:iiot,  that  poetry  depended  for  its  excellence  rather  on  the  subject 

than  the  execution.     No  one  seems  to  have  asked  Bowles  by 

"what  right  he  limited  the  meaning  of  the  term  *  poetical'  to 

"what  was  adapted  to  the  higher  order  of  poetry ;  whether  satire 

smd  mock-heroic  were  not  genuine  orders  of  poetry ;  and  if  so, 

^whether  images  drawn  from  the  sublime  and  the  pathetic  in 

inature  would  be  adapted  for  satire  and  mock-heroic. 

Warton  and  Bowles,  it  is  evident,  confounded  two  distinct  issues 

^the  scope  of  the  art  of  poetry,  and  the  intention  of  particular 

jx>ets.  Their  argument  assumed  that  the  term  ^  poetical  could  be 
"with  equal  propriety  applied  to  the  subject  of  a  poem  and  to  its 
execution,  whereas  it  is  really  applicable  only  to  the  latter.  It  may, 
:indeed,  be  said  that  a  man's  thought  is  poetical  though  expressed 
Sn  prose,  but  in  that  case  the  word  is  used  in  a  metaphorical 
^ense,  meaning  that  the  thought  resembles  those  which  are  com- 
ixnonly  found  expressed  in  verse.  A  poet  is  a  man  who  expresses 
:idea8  in  metrical  language,  just  as  a  painter  is  one  who  expresses 
adeas  by  means  of  forms  and  colours.  If  a  subject,  adapted  for 
^ny  kind  of  metrical  expression,  be  expressed  in  metre  as  well 
^as  in  its  kind  it  can  be,  the  result  is  in  the  highest  degree 
;poetical.  No  one  would  deny  that  Milton's  poetry  is  more 
sablime  than  Pope's ;  but  to  say  that  it  is  more  poetical  is  a 
€X>xifiision  of  terms.  It  is  as  if  an  epicure,  wishing  to  justify  his 
preference  for  peaches  over  strawberries,  should  say  that  the 
strawberry  was  less  of  a  fruit  than  the  peach. 

As  we  have  said,  there  had  hitherto  been  no  real  question  in 
dispute.  The  true  merits  of  Pope  were  as  highly  extolled  by 
those  who  were  supposed  to  disparage  his  genius,  as  by  those 
'who  most  staunchly  upheld  it.  ^Considering,'  says  Warton, 
*  the  correctness^  elegance,  and  utility,  of  his  works,  the  weight 
of  sentiment,  and  the  knowledge  of  men  they  contain,  we 
may  venture  to  assign  him  a  place  next  to  Milton  and  just 

above 


328  Mr.  Elwin'*  Pope. 

above  Dryden.*  In  the  same  manner  Bowles  'cheerfollj  ad- 
mitted that  Pope  will  remain  unrivalled  for  the  correctness  and 
delicacy  of  his  taste,  as  well  as  for  the  vigour  of  his  judgment.' 
Nothing  more  could  be  desired  by  any  reasonable  admirer  of 
Pope.  But  scarcely  had  this  first  great  quarrel  been  brought  to 
something  like  an  amicable  composition,  when  a  far  more  deadlv 
and  deliberate  attack  was  made  on  the  poet's  reputation.  It 
will  be  observed  that,  both  in  Warton's  and  Bowles  estimate  of 
Pope,  special  emphasis  is  laid  on  his  virtue  of  correctness.  But 
a  later  school  of  critics,  followers  for  the  most  part  of  the  Lake 
school  of  poetry,  and  rebels  against  all  eighteenth  century 
'authority,'  maintain  that  'correctness'  in  poetry  is  no  virtue, 
and  that,  even  if  it  be.  Pope  is  not  correct.  Prominent  among 
these  critics  stand  De  Quincey  and  Macaulay,  and  the  sum  of 
their  opinions  on  Pope's  correctness  may  be  given  in  the  words 
of  Mr.  Elwin : — '  We  might  be  tempted  to  think  that  the  claim 
which  Warton  and  others  set  up  for  Fope  was  an  insidious  device 
to  injure  his  reputation,  by  diverting  attention  from  his  merits, 
and  basing  his  fame  on  a  foundation  too  slender  to  support  it.' 

Now  let  us  hasten  to  say  that,  if  Pope  be  not  '  correct '  in 
Warton's  sense  of  the  word,  his  reputation  falls.  Ever  since  the 
hint  which  Spence  tells  us  he  had  from  Walsh,  correctness  in 
writing  was  the  poet's  first  aim,  and  if  he  missed  this,  he  missed 
his  poetical  mark.  What,  then,  is  this  correctness  ?  In  the  first 
place  the  word  evidently  implies  limitation,  and  it  is  noticeable 
that  some  of  those  who  decry  limitation  in  poetry  do  so  foi 
exactly  opposite  reasons.  Macaulay  despises  correctness,  because 
he  is  of  opinion  that  the  freedom  of  poetical  imagination 
expires  under  the  fetters  and  refinements  of  art;  Mr.  Elwin 
despises  it  because  he  thinks  the  field  of  poetical  imagination 
is  as  boundless  and  indefinable  as  nature.  'We  think,'  sayi 
Macaulay,  '  that  as  civilisation  advances,  poetry  almost  neces- 
sarily declines.  ...  In  a  rude  state  of  society  men  are  children 
with  a  greater  variety  of  ideas.  It  is  therefore  in  such  a  socie^ 
that  we  may  expect  to  find  the  poetical  temperament  in  iti 
highest  perfection.  In  an  enlightened  age  there  will  be  much 
intelligence,  much  science,  much  philosophy,  abundance  of  just 
classification  and  subtle  analysis,  but  little  poetry.'  Mr.  Elwin, 
on  the  contrary,  says :  '  The  advice  of  Walsh  was  foolish.  A 
poet  who  believed  originality  to  be  exhausted  might  have  spared 
his  pains.  .  .  .  The  aspects  under  which  the  world,  animate 
and  inanimate,  may  be  regarded  by  the  poet  are  practically 
endless.  The  latent  truths  of  science  do  not  offer  to  the  phi- 
losopher a  more  unbounded  field  of  novelty.'  It  is  plain  that 
these  two  contradictory  theories  cannot  be  true  together.   . 

Bat 


Mr,  Elwin*5  Pope.  329 

Bat  what  are  the  limitations  which  Warton  meant  to  express 
_  the  term  *  correctness '  ?  Macaulaj  had  few  equals  as  a 
rli&ctorician,  and  the  rhetorical  device  in  which  he  particularly 
e^z^Kcelled  was  the  apparently  exhaustive  statement  of  an  ad- 
v-^jsarj's  argument,  as  a  preliminary  to  exhibiting  its  shallow- 
and  imbecility.  He  has  nowhere  used  this  artifice  with 
brilliant  effect  than  in  his  disquisition  on  the  meaning  of 
ipe's  correctness.  For  instance,  supposing  that  the  word  may 
accuracy  of  description,  he  says  that,  in  that  case,  Scott, 
ileridge,  and  Wordsworth,  would  be  more  correct  poets  than 
F^^^pe  and  Addison,  since  *  the  single  description  of  a  moonlight 
i^^lght  in  Pope's  **  Iliad  "  contains  more  inaccuracies  than  can  be 
fo^snd  in  all  the  "Excursion,"'  *But  if,'  he  continues,  *by 
c^osiectness  be  meant  the  conforming  to  a  narrow  legislation, 
wrlnich,  while  lenient  to  the  mala  in  se^  multiplies,  without  a 
sl^^ow  of  a  reason,  the  mala  prohibita;  if  by  correctness  be 
'"ci.^sant  a  strict  attention  to  certain  ceremonious  observances, 
^'^l:wch  are  no  more  essential  to  poetry  than  etiquette  to  good 
^T'^^emment,  or  than  the  washings  of  a  Pharisee  to  devotion, 
^'^^sn  assuredly  Pope  may  be  a  more  correct  poet  than  Shake- 
*I^^are;  and  if  the  code  were  a  little  altered,  CoUey  Cibber 
'^^i^Jit  be  a  more  correct  poet  than  Pope.' 

3rothing  could  be  more  effective ;  the  only  thing  to  be  said  is 
^*^^rt  the  word  '  correctness,'  as  used  by  Warton,  did  not  mean 
^*^-ij,  nor  did  it  simply  mean  accuracy  of  description.  The  true 
?^^aaning  of  the  term  may  be  gathered  from  a  passage  in  Sir 
•'^^^rtua  Reynolds's  *  Discourses,'  in  which  he  defines  the  limits 
^*"  ^minting: — 

*  Everyihing  is  to  he  done  with  tohich  it  is  natural  for  the  mind  to  he 
P^^^aedf  whetiier  it  proceeds  from  simplicity  or  variety,  uniformity  or 
^'"^^wolarity ;  whether  the  scenes  are  familiar  or  exotic,  rude  and 
^^^il^  or  enriched  and  cultivated ;  for  it  is  natural  for  the  mind  to  be 
P^^NMsd  witii  all  these  in  their  turn.  In  short,  whatever  pleases  has 
^   it  what  is  analogous  to  the  mind,  and  is  therefore  in  the  highest 

^  best  sense  natund.' 


The  doctrine  of  Sir  Joshua  implies  that  all  art  is  foimded 

^X^^n  Nature;  that  its  function  is  to  produce  pleasure;  that  there 

^^   ^  general  order  in  Nature  which  is  designed  to  excite  pleasure, 

•*^^  a  common  constitution  of  the  mind  which  is  prepared  to 

^^^'Oeivc  it ;  and  that  when  art  of  any  kind  produces  results  upon 

^l^ch  general  and  lasting  pleasure  follows,  then   that   art   is 

"^yond  all  question  correct.     Correctness  in  poetry  may  there- 

"*»e  be  defined  as  the  production  of  any  effect  of  metrical  com- 

P^^tion  with  which  it  is  natural  for  the  mind  to  be  pleased. 

^  it  possible  to  fix  with  any  precision  the  limits  of  this  pleasure  ? 

We 


330  Mr,  Elwin'«  Pope. 

We  agree  with  Macaulay  that  the  effects  of  poetry  with  whic?! 
it  is  natural  for  the  mind  to  be  pleased  are  most  abundant  ix%  a 
rude  state  of  society ;  and  also  that  this  is  the  state  in  which  the 
mind  itself  is  capable  of  receiving  the  most  intense  and  exhiJa- 
rating  pleasure.     Whatever  advance  is  subsequently  made    by 
society  in  knowledge  and  refinement  is  so  much  encroachmeot 
on  the  territory  of  the  imagination.     The  sources  of  poeticil 
pleasure  have  to  stand  a  constant  drain  from  the  increase  of 
judgment,  comparison,  custom,  prejudice,  ennui,  and  all  tlie 
artificial  tastes  that  accumulate  in  the  mind  of  an  old  and  hit- 
toric  society.     They  are  further  exhausted  by  the   growth  of 
poetical  *  property,'  and  by  the  unceasing  demand  of  the  reader 
for  imaginative  novelty.      A  frequent  complaint  of  late  writen 
is  want  of  materials.     Virgil,  for  instance,  piques  himself  on 
the  invention  of  the  design  of  the  *  Georgics ' : — 

'  Cetera  quie  vacuas  tenoissent  carmine  mentes 
Omnia  jam  vnlgata.' 

And  La  Bruyere,  in  exactly  the  same  way,  though  in  a  more 
despondent  spirit,  exclaims:  'Les  anciens  ont  tout  dit;  oa 
vient  aujourd  hui  trop  tard  pour  dire  des  choses  nouvelles.' 

On  the  other  hand,  taking  the  word  poetry  in  its  wide  and 
generally  accepted  sense,  it  is  surprising  to  us  that  a  judge  oi 
Macaulay's  soundness  and  penetration  should  have  committed 
himself  to  an  opinion  which  the  most  cursory  survey  of  facts  prove* 
to  be  untenable.  What  was  the  stage  of  civilisation  in  which  were 
produced  the  poems  of  Sophocles,  Virgil,  Corneille,  and  Milton? 
If  the  poetical  temperament  in  its  highest  perfection  be  found 
in  a  rude  state  of  society,  then  Thespis  ought  to  have  been  » 
greater  poet  than  Euripides ;  the  miracle  plays  of  the  monk* 
must  have  had  more  merit  than  the  dramas  of  Shakespeare; 
and  Caedmon,  not  Milton,  should  have  been  the  author  of '  Pai>' 
disc  Lost.'  But,  in  truth,  the  performances  of  the  later  writer* 
would  have  been  out  of  the  power  of  their  predecessors.  How- 
ever gifted  in  point  of  imaginative  sensibility,  the  latter  would 
have  failed  for  want  of  art.  Learning,  judgment,  the  power  of 
composition,  a  language  rich  in  precise  yet  ample  terms,  and 
in  varied  resources  of  harmony — in  all  of  which  essentials  early 
writers  are,  as  a  rule,  conspicuously  deficient — go  to  the  making 
of  a  great  poem  ;  and,  instead  of  sharing  Macaulay's  surprise 
that  *  Paradise  Lost '  should  have  been  written  in  an  advanced 
stage  of  society,  we  are  of  opinion  that  at  no  other  stage  could 
such  a  poem  have  been  possible. 

We  find  then,  in  poetry,  so  long  as  it  continues  to  be  genuinelv 
productive,  a  twofold  process  ;  a  constant  exhaustion  of  poetical 

materisl 


Mr.  Elwin'5  Pope.  331 

ial  (and  here  we  have  the  misfortune  to  disagree  with  Mr. 
.)  and  a  constant  increase  in  the  resources  of  poetical  art^ 
ich  point,  as  we  have  said,  we  part  company  from  Macaulaj. 
t  production  of  poetical  pleasure  there  is  a  balance  of  loss 
lin.  If  much  pleasure  is  subtracted  from  the  imagination, 
is  added  to  the  judgment ;  if  refined  society  misses  the 
e  and  freedom  of  its  early  enjoyments,  the  want  is  to  some 
supplied  by  the  increased  delicacy  and  profundity  of  its 
>tions.  The  objects  of  imagination  are  brought  into  a 
x>ntracted  area,  but  they  are  more  distinctly  seen ;  language 
in  point  of  imagery,  but  gains  in  comprehensiveness  and 
ion ;  constituted  opinion  begins  to  exercise  a  control  over 
Tegular  freedom  of  the  individual.  Hence  arises  the 
ird  of  correctness.  For  while  primitive  speech  is  of 
ity  poetical,  while,  that  is  to  say,  it  falls  naturally  into 
of  expression  that  are  perfectly  adapted  for  metre,  critical 
f  comes  to  perceive  that  there  are  certain  subjects,  which, 
ir  very  nature,  are  bound  to  be  expressed  in  prose.  Men 
u>  choose,  reject,  and  combine  ideas ;  and  those  who  avail 
slves  with  the  nicest  accuracy  of  the  different  capacities 
two  forms  of  expression  are  recognised  as  the  truest 
.  And  in  proportion  as  thought  and  language  become 
laginative,  so  much  the  greater  grows  the  reputation  of 
who  excite  pleasure  by  the  correct  use  of  metre.  No  one 
rs  much  at  the  skill  which  produces  plentiful  harvests 
valley  of  the  Danube ;  but  every  one  would  admire  the 
urming  which  obtained  anything  like  the  same  results  in 
Ids  of  Siberia. 

s  is  the  sense  in  which  Pope's  works  are  correct.     In  one 
pleasant  papers  of  his  *•  Covent  Garden  Journal,'  Fielding 
res  the  different  epochs  of  English  poetry  to  the  various 
of  government ;  and  says  that,  in  the  monarchy  founded 
jrden  and  descending  to  Pope,  the  latter  was  inclined  to 
I  the  prerogative  too  far.     The  image  is  not  quite  exact. 
Alexander '  was  a  constitutional  monarch.    When  he  sue- 
to  the  throne,  the  exchequer  of  imagination  was  too  much 
tted  to  allow  of  a  poet  playing  the  despot  in  the  style  of 
we  or  Shakespeare.   The  romantic  spirit  of  medieval  society 
^.     All  the  picturesqueness  of  life,  the  local  humours, 
antry  customs,  the  festivals  of  the  calendar,  all  that  mixed 
ition  and  equality,  encouraged  by  the  Catholic  Church, 
presented  in  the  *  Canterbury  Tales,'  had  passed  away  for 
There  was  no  longer  any  entertainment  to  be  furnished 
machinery  of  romance.     The  illusions  of  magic  and  the 
^ms  of  knighthood  had  vanished,  with  their  enchanted 

shields 


332  Mr.  Elwin'«  Pope. 

shields  and  horns,  in  the  allegory  of  the  *  Faery  Queen,'  With 
the  period  of  the  Reformation  and  the  great  Civil  War,  uAered 
in  by  Marlowe  and  closed  by  Milton,  had  disappeared  die 
elements  of  the  epic  and  the  drama.  Pope  was  not  wanting  in 
the  greatness  of  epical  thought,  but  he  wanted  materials;  t 
nation  has  never  in  it  the  making  of  more  than  one  great  epie; 
and  England  had  already  ^  Paradise  Lost.'  For  the  drama  he 
had  no  genius  ;  but  if  he  had  felt  all  Shakespeare's  inspiration,  he 
could  hardly  have  given  it  utterance  under  Walpole  and  the  t*o 
first  Georges.  With  bitter  irony  Pope,  in  his  *  Imitation!  d 
Horace,'  called  on  George  II.  to  correct  the  prevailing  anarchy 
of  taste ;  but  he  knew  that  the  Augustus,  to  whom  he  made  hii 
appeal,  could  barely  read  the  language  in  which  he  was  addrened) 
and  that  the  only  artists  who  had  any  value  in  the  eyes  of  hii 
Maecenas  were  venal  pamphleteers. 

The  influence  of  the  Court  on  letters  was  no  longer  fdt 
Elizabeth,  James  I.,  Charles  I.,  Charles  II.,  had  been  magnifioen* 
patrons  of  literature;  and  though  their  taste  had  not  alwaji 
been  employed  to  encourage  morality,  it  had  helped  to  preien<i 
a  high  standard  of  imagination  and  breeding.  Hitherto  dun 
had  been  few  readers  outside  the  Court.  But  the  cessation  ol 
the  Civil  War,  and  even  more  the  settlement  of  1689,  bi^'^'^ 
into  the  field  of  taste  a  new  factor,  public  opinion.  Th 
great  spread  of  wealth  and  luxury  during  the  reigns  of  Anneanc 
the  Hanoverian  monarchs  increased  proportionately  the  deiirc 
for  intellectual  amusement.  Pope  describes  the  universal  pattioc 
for  letters : — 

'  Now  times  are  changed  and  one  poetio  itch 
Has  seized  the  court  and  city,  poor  and  rich ; 
Sons,  sires,  and  grandsires,  all  will  wear  the  bays ; 
Our  wives  read  Milton,  and  our  daughters  plays.' 

The  more  men  read  and  reflected,  the  stronger  grew  thd* 
judgment,  and  their  taste  more  difficult  to  please  ;  and  tofxt^ 
it  from  being  true  that  Pope  had  the  power,  even  if  he  had  the 
will,  to  be  a  despot,  that  he  was,  at  the  beginning  of  his  reigni 
hard  put  to  it  to  defend  his  prerogative  against  the  encroach- 
ments of  the  critics.  The  critics,  like  the  Whig  ParliamentiiJ 
lawyers,  were  everywhere  crying  up  against  the  poets  what  they 
asserted  to  be  the  true  principles  of  the  poetical  constitntioD* 
They  swarmed  in  the  coffee-houses,  and  debated  in  the  club* 
Some  of  them,  like  Dennis,  were  men  of  considerable  learninffj 
but  the  majority  of  the  writers  commemorated  in  the  *  Dundan 
were  hired  scribblers,  whose  only  hope  of  earning  a  livcliheod 
lay  in  preying  on  the  reputation  of  others.     Their  prindplei  <» 

criticia» 


Mr,  Elwin'«  Pope.  333 

cnticism  were  as  poor  as  the  spirit  in  which  they  were  conceived. 
Some  were  all  for  Aristotle's  rules ;  some  for  decrying  all  authors 
vho  were  not  at  least  a  century  old  ;  and  others,  having  written 
'doll  receipts  how  poems  may  be  made,'  were  stout  in  their  con- 
demnation of  every  composition  that  did  not  square  with  their 
own  edicts. 

How  to  strike  the  balance  between  imagination  and  judgment, 
between  the  liberty  of  the  author  and  the  rights  of  the  reader,  was 
the  problem  which  poets  had  henceforth  to  solve ;  and  this  Pope 
Teiy  well  knew.  *  i  am  inclined  to  think,'  said  he,  in  the  Preface 
to  his  works  published  1717,  *  that  both  the  writers  of  books 
and  the  readers  of  them,  are  generally  not  a  little  unreasonable 
m  their  expectations.  The  first  seem  to  fancy  that  the  world 
most  approve  whatever  they  produce,  and  the  latter  to  imagine 
that  authors  are  obliged  to  please  them  at  any  rate.  Methinks, 
ai  on  the  one  hand,  no  single  man  is  bom  with  the  right  of 
controlling  the  opinions  of  all  the  rest;  so  on  the  other,  the 
world  has  no  title  to  demand  that  the  whole  care  and  time  of 
anj  particular  person  should  be  sacrificed  to  its  entertainment. 
Therefore  I  cannot  but  think  that  writers  and  readers  are  under 
equal  obligations  for  as  much  fame,  or  pleasure,  as  each  affords 
the  other.' 

The  conditions  of  the  problem  he  perfectly  understood,  and 
when  he  was  barely  twenty-one  years  old  defined  them  in  his 
'Essay  on  Criticism.'  Very  conflicting  opinions  have  been 
paned  on  the  merit  of  this  poem  by  the  critics  of  the  eighteenth 
*od  nineteenth  centuries.  *  If  he  had  written  nothing  else,'  says 
Johnson,  *  this  would  have  placed  him  amongst  the  first  critics, 
uid  the  first  poets,  as  it  eidiibits  every  mode  of  excellence  that 
^  embellish,  or  justify  didactic  composition, — selection  of 
letter,  novelty  of  arrangement,  justness  of  precept,  splendour  of 
lustration,  and  propriety  of  digression.'  On  the  other  hand, 
%  Qoincey  considers  it  *  the  feeblest  and  least  interesting  of 
Pope's  writings,  being  substantially  a  mere  versification,  like  a 
Dictrical  multiplication  table,  of  commonplaces  the  most  mouldy, 
^  which  criticism  has  baited  her  rat-traps.' 

We  are  ourselves  all  on  the  side  of  the  eighteenth  century. 
'The  Essay  on  Criticism'  is  in  our  eyes  the  Magna  Charta  of 
Poetry.  But  the  weight  and  authority  of  the  adverse  critics  en- 
^  dieir  arguments  to  every  consideration,  and  the  arguments 
lieniselves  are  straightforward  and  intelligible.  Separated  from 
Ik  wealth  of  illustration  and  the  brilliance  of  epigram,  by  which 
^  are  supported,  the  central  principles  of  the  Essay  may  be 
Mefly  stated :  *  Follow  Nature :  imitate  the  classics ; '  while  the 

objectors 


334  Mr,  Elwin'5  Pope. 

objectors   say   that   the   observations   on   the   first  maxun  ar 
commonplace,  and  on  the  second  unsound. 

^  Many  of  his  remarks,'  says  Mr.  Elwin,  *  were  the  commoi 
property  of  the  civilised  world.  A  slight  acquaintance  wit 
books  and  men  is  sufficient  to  teach  us  that  people  are  partis 
to  their  own  judgments ;  that  some  poets  are  not  qualified  to  b 
poets,  wits,  or  critics ;  and  that  critics  should  not  launch  beyon 
their  depth.'  True:  as  Mr.  Elwin  puts  them,  these  maxim 
are  understood  to  be  commonplaces.  But  as  Pope  putsthei 
they  are  felt  to  be  common  truths ;  and  between  the  two  thing 
there  is  a  wide  difference.  *  Proprie  communia  dicere '  is  tb 
secret  of  all  good  writing,  as  the  wish  to  say  something  novi 
and  surprising  is  generally  the  secret  of  bad.  The  answer  t 
Mr.  Elwin  is  admirably  given  in  Addison's  estimate  of  th 

*  commonplaces '  in  Pope's  essay. 

'As  for  those  truths  which  are  the  most  known  and  the  moi 
received,  they  are  placed  in  so  beautiful  a  light,  and  illustrated  wit 
such  apt  allusions,  that  the  reader,  who  was  before  acquainted  wit 
them,  is  still  more  convinced  of  their  truth  and  solidity.' 

But  there  is  another,  and  more  weighty  argument  for  Pope 

*  Commonplaces.'  *  Follow  Nature,'  was  no  doubt  a  maxii 
common  to  the  civilised  world,  but  it  was  one  which  was  bj  a 
means  commonly  understood.  On  the  contrary,  there  was  a 
principle  of  art  which,  throughout  the  century  preceding  tb 
lifetime  of  Pope,  had  been  so  flagrantly  violated.  The  poctr 
of  the  first  half  of  the  seventeenth  century  shows  the  exhausti<^ 
of  the  materials,  and  of  the  spirit  of  medieval  imaginadoE 
Among  the  school  of  poets  founded  by  Donne,  we  see  a  perpetaa 
endeavour  to  retain  the  forms  of  the  romantic  past,  either  in  tk 
shape  of  the  gallantries  of  knighthood,  or  of  the  fancies  o 
scholastic  philosophy.  They  are  always  struggling  to  be  sublim 
under  difficulties.  They  did  not  feel  the  *  nature'  that  t 
around  them,  but  took  refuge  in  affectation  and  conceit.  Cowie) 
with  an  ample  and  vigorous  genius,  could  not  resist  the  tempts 
tion  to  be  *  witty.'  Dryden  himself,  who  well  knew  the  vicioM 
ness  of  Cowley's  style,  was  not  free  from  the  same  infectioo 
which,  indeed,  corrupted  poetical  taste  till  the  purge  was  finally 
applied  by  Pope.  But  of  all  the  metaphysical  writers  whc 
in  the  impotence  of  invention,  *  tortured  one  poor  thought 
thousand  ways,'  probably  the  worst  offender  was  Crashaw,  « 
passage  from  whose  poem  entitled  *  The  Weeper '  (consisting  ^ 
about  forty  stanzas)  we  subjoin,  as  perhaps  the  most  wonderiii 
specimen  of  poetical  lemon-squeezing  to  be  found  in  the  whol 
range  of  literature : — 


Mr.  Elwin'5  Pope.  335 

*  Hail  sister  springs, 
Parents  of  sUver-footed  rills, 
Ever  bubbling  things! 
Thawing  crystals  I  snowy  hills 
Still  spending,  never  spent  I  I  mean 
Thy  fair  eyes^  stoeet  Magdalene. 

*  Heavens  thy  fair  eyes  be. 
Heavens  of  ever-faUing  stars ; 
'Tis  seedtime  still  with  thee, 

And  stars  thou  sowest,  whose  harvest  dares 
Promise  the  earth  to  countershine 
Whatever  makes  heaven's  forehead  fine. 
«  «  «  « 

'  Upwards  thou  dost  weep  ; 
Heaven's  bosom  drinks  the  gentle  stream ; 
Where  the  milky  rivers  ereep^ 
Thine  floats  above  and  is  (he  eream. 
Waters  above  the  heavens  what  they  be,      * 
We  are  taught  best  by  thy  tears  and  thee.' 

To  correct  the  false  judgment  exhibited  in  this  kind  of  writing* 
(and  the  passage  we  have  quoted  is  typical),  Pope  advises  all 
poets  to  imitate  the  classics  ;  a  doctrine  which  has  procured  for 
tim  the  severe  censure  of  Mr.  Elwin.  *  Pope's  principles,'  says 
Ms  editor,  *  were  those  of  a  mere  imitator ; '  he  was  *  a  foe  to 
originality ; '  'an  exclusive  partisan  of  classical  poetry ;' '  he  seems 
to  have  been  unconscious  of  the  vast  metamorphosis  which  the 
^orld  had  undergone  since  the  close  of  the  Greek  and  Roman 
*^.'  We  think  that  the  charge  against  Pope  is  alike  refuted  by 
his  main  doctrine,  *  Follow  Natur6,'  and  by  the  truly  original 
character  of  his  own  poetry.  But  supposing  him  to  be  a  *  mere 
^tator,'  let  us  hear  what  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  (whose  admirable 
Sixth  'Discourse'  should  be  read  as  a  commentary  on  Pope's 
^Wy)  has  to  tell  us  on  the  subject  of  imitation  in  the  sister 

'For  m J  own  part,  I  confess  I  am  not  only  very  much  disposed  to 
^'wiain  me  absolute  necessity  of  imitation  in  the  first  stages  of  the 
^  bat  am  of  opinion  that  the  study  of  other  masters,  which  I  here 
call  imitation,  may  be  extended  throughout  our  whole  lives  without 
viy  danger  of  the  inconveniences,  witib  which  it  is  charged,  of  en- 
^'^ohHng  the  mind,  or  preventing  us  from  giving  fiiat  original  air 
ijUoh  every  work  undoubtedly  ought  always  to  have.  I  am,  on 
uie  contrary,  persuaded  that  by  imitation  only  variety  and  even 
^''^^liiudity  of  invention  is  produced.  I  will  go  further ;  even  genius, 
^  least  what  is  generally  so  called,  is  the  child  of  imitation.' 

^liis  is  excellently  well  put,  and  it  is  essentially  the  same 

doctrine 


336  Mr.  Elwin'«  Pope. 

doctrine  as  Pope^s.     When  Pope  said  '  Follow  Nature,'  he  was 
only  saying  what  Sir  Joshua  afterwards  said  in  other  words, 
*•  Everything  is  to  be  done  with  which  it  is  natural  for  the  mind 
to  be  pleased.'     But  this  freedom  implies  limitation,  and  the 
boundaries  of  natural  pleasure  are  to  be  settled  by  authority. 
Had  anyone  declared  himself  pleased  by  the  passage  we  hsTe 
quoted  from  Crashaw,  and  defied  Pope  to  show  that  his  pleasure 
was  unnatural,  the  poet's  answer  would  have  been  first  to  paint 
out  in  what  respects  the  verses  offended  against  sound  taste,  and 
then  to  back  his  opinion  by  reference  to  the  work  of  those  who 
had  been  most  successful  in  producing  lasting  pleasure.     Thi^. 
and  this  only,  is  what  Pope  meant  when  he  said  that  Viigil 
^  imitated '  Homer.     This,  and  this  only,  is  the  sense  of  his  own 
couplet : — 

*  Learn  henoe  for  ancient  roles  a  just  esteem. 
We  copy  Nature  when  we  copy  them.' 

Once  more  we  quote  Sir  Joshua  in  corroboration  of  our  poet 

'  It  is  from  a  careful  study  of  the  works  of  the  ancients  Af^  joa 
will  be  enabled  to  attain  to  the  real  simplicity  of  nature ;  ih^  w3i 
suggest  many  observations  which  would  probably  escape  you  if  jonr 
study  were  confined  to  nature  alone.  And,  indeed,  I  cannot  help 
suspecting  that,  in  this  instance,  the  ancients  had  an  easier  task  tboi 
the  modems.  They  had  probably  little  or  nothing  to  unlearn,  ts 
their  manners  were  nearly  approaching  to  this  desirable  simpUeify  9 
while  the  modem  artist,  bdfbre  he  can  see  the  truth  of  thu^is 
obliged  to  remove  a  veil  with  which  the  fashion  of  the  times  htf^ 
thought  proper  to  cover  her.' 

The  fertility  of  Pope's  invention  is  shown  by  the  great 
variety  of  his  compositions.  Setting  aside  his  translations** 
not  bearing  on  the  question  under  discussion,  and  his  lyrical 
poems  as  devoid  of  real  genius,  we  may  divide  his  poetical 
works  into  four  classes: — (1)  his  Pastorals,  including  the 
*  Messiah '  and  *  Windsor  Forest ; '  (2^  his  Mock-heroic  poeinSt 
comprising  *The  Rape  of  the  Lock'  and  *The  Dunciad;* 
(3)  his  *  Love  Elegy  and  Epistle ; '  (4)  his  Satiric  and  Didactic 
poems,  namely,  the  *  Essay  on  Criticism,'  the  *  Essay  on  Man,* 
the  *  Moral  Epistles,'  and  *  Imitations  of  Horace.'  In  all  tbeie 
various  orders  of  poetry,  except  one,  he  was  successfiil  10 
penetrating  beneath  the  modes  and  fashions  of  his  time  to  'the 
truth  of  things,'  and  in  building  his  art  on  the  secure  and  lasting' 
foundations  of  natural  pleasure.  The  exception  is,  of  oonnef 
his  pastoral  poetry. 

His  four  first  Pastorals  were  published  in  1709,  and  thoogi^ 
they  had  been  composed  between  his  seventeenth  and  nineteenth 


Mr,  Elwin'*  Pope.  337 

/ears,  they  surpassed  in  smoothness  and  regularity  of  versifica- 
tioii  any  £nglish  yerse  that  had  yet  appeared.  But  he  seems  to 
have  imagined  that  the  eclogue,  which,  as  a  rule,  was  the 
product  of  idleness  and  affectation,  was  as  much  a  regular 
division  of  poetry  as  the  epic,  the  drama,  and  the  ode,  which 
have,  each  of  them,  a  foundation  on  the  enduring  passions  of 
the  mind.  From  the  time  of  Virgil  the  eclogue  had  always 
been  the  favourite  poem  of  courts.  Its  traditions  had  passed 
from  Rome  to  Italy,  France,  and  England ;  and  whenever  a 
oourtier  was  particularly  anxious  to  display  his  letters  or  his 
breeding,  he  had  only  to  imagine  himself  a  shepherd  in  the 
Golden  Age,  and  he  might  at  once  in  this  character  bewail  his 
Mends,  complain  of  his  mistress,  or  air  his  theology,  as  if  his 
nisticity  were  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  And  indeed, 
Pope  believed  it  to  be  Nature.  *  If,*  says  he,  '  we  would  copy 
Nature,  it  may  be  useful  to  take  this  idea  along  with  us,  that 
pastoral  is  an  image  of  the  Golden  Age.'  Now  had  he  studied 
Theocritus,  as  he  tells  us  in  the  Essay  on  'Criticism'  the 
iuicients  ought  to  be  studied,  he  would  have  seen  that  the 
shepherds  and  fishermen,  introduced  by  the  latter,  were  native 
Sicilian,  and  that  all  his  images  of  rural  beauty  and  humour 
^^Ce  drawn  from  the  nature  about  him.  But  as  he  was  fully 
possessed  with  the  prejudice  that  Theocritus  was  the  poet  who 
ii^ed  nearest  to  the  Golden  Age,  from  which  the  eclogue  had 
cozne  down  as  an  immutable  form  of  poetry,  he  thought  that  if 
^  ^ranted  to  know  anything  about  the  Golden  Age,  he  must  look 
for  it  in  the  forms  of  Theocritus. 

(lence  he  became  an  imitator  in  the  ordinary  and  servile  sense 

of  tlie  word,  and,  without  any  misgiving,  joined  in  grotesque 

^^^ociation  the  whole  machinery  of  classical  pastoralism  with 

*^  own  local  circumstances.     Pan  and  the  Satyrs,  the  Dryads 

and  the  Loves,  camfe  trooping  into  Windsor  Forest ;   Strephon 

^d   Daphnis,  engaged   in  a  Virgilian  contest  with  the  Vir- 

P^iaa  wager  and  Virgilian  riddle,  by  the  banks  of  Thames ; 

^^xis  lamented  to  Garth ;   and  the   deceased  Mrs.  Tempest, 

^ix%^  suddenly  recognised  by  Thyrsis  in  the  shape  of  a  con- 

•*®Uation,  was  propitiated  by  his  rival  Lycidas  with  the  sacrifice 

of  a  lamb.     The  subject  of  the  Pastorals  was  the  '  Four  Sea- 

'^^^  but  such  seasons  as  were  never  known  in  this  island.    The 

^^ers,  which  are  always  amiably  interested  in  the  shepherd's 

loves,  behave  as  we  may  believe  them  to  have  behaved  in  the 

^ys  of  Bion  and  Moschus,  but  not  at  all  as  they  behave  in 

^gland;  vines  flourished  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Windsor, 

^lule  roses,  crocuses,  and  violets  all  bloom  at  the  same  time. 

^^  with  so  much  vital  incorrectness,  the  poet  piqued  himself  on 

Vol  143.— iVb-  286.  z  his 


338  Mr,  Elwin'5  Pope. 

his  judgment.  When  the  Pastorals  were  first  published,  they 
contained  the  following  couplet ; — 

'  Your  praise  the  tuneful  birds  to  heaven  shaU  bear, 
And  listening  wolves  grow  milder  as  they  hear.' 

*  The  author,'  says  Pope,  solemnly,  '  young  as  he  was,  soon 
found  the  absurdity,  which  Spenser  himself  had  overlooked,  of 
introducing  wolves  into  England.'  As  Mr.  Elwin  justly  remarks, 
there  was  ^  no  absurdity  on  Pope's  own  principle  that  the  scene 
of  pastorals  was  to  be  laid  in  the  Golden  Age. 

In  point  of  imagery,  pathos,  and  fancy,  Pope's  Pastorals  are 
thoroughly  unnatural,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  his  general 
reputation  they  could  scarcely  have  outlived  those  of  his  riral, 
Ambrose  Phillips.  The  best  thing  that  can  be  said  of  them  is, 
that  their  name  suggested  to  Thomson  the  idea  of  *  The  Seasons/ 

So  long  as  he  continued  to  write  in  the  pastoral  style,  he 
failed   to   attain   to   anything  like    perfect   correctness.     His 

*  Messiah,'  published  in  1711,  in  imitation  of  Virgil's  sixth 
Eclogue,  wonderful  as  a  poetical  tour  de  forces  is  radically 
faulty  in  its  design.  ^  It  was  written,'  says  he,  *  with  this  pa^ 
ticular  view,  that  the  reader,  by  comparing  the  several  thoughts, 
might  see  how  far  the  images  and  descriptions  of  the  preset 
were  superior  to  those  of  the  poet.'  Surely  the  reader  might 
do  this  for  himself,  without  having  the  language  of  Isiuah 
paraphrased  after  the  manner  of  Virgil.  To  confine  the  wild 
freedom  of  Hebrew  inspiration  within  the  limits  of  Latin 
stateliness,  was  like  converting  Westminster  Abbey  on  the  prin- 
ciples of  the  Parthenon. 

*  Windsor  Forest'  (1713),  a  poem  in  which  he  perhaps  rivals 
Denham  in  weight  and  dignity,  while  he  certainly  excels  him  in 
invention  and  arrangement,  shows  a  tendency  to  unite  the  pss" 
toral  with  the  didactic  manner,  in  which  he  no  doubt  felt 
already  that  his  real  strength  lay.  The  survey  of  the  history  of 
the  Forest  and  the  lines  on  the  Peace  of  Utrecht  are  much  the 
finest  parts  of  the  poem.  The  latter  passage  was,  however, 
written  five  years  after  the  rest.  Pope  was  still  hampered  hy 
classical  pedantry,  as  appears  by  the  introduction  of  the  trivial 
episode  of '  Lodona.' 

He  seems  to  have  set  little  value  on  his  descriptive  poetry? 
at  any  rate  he  alludes  to  it  slightingly  in  his  Prologue  to  the 

*  Imitations.' 


'  Soft  were  my  numbers ;  who  could  take  offonce 
While  pure  description  held  the  place  of  sense  ? 
Like  gentle  Fanny's  was  my  flowery  theme ; 
"  A  painted  mistress  or  a  purling  stream." ' 


By 


Mr.  Elwin'*  Pope.  339 

By  this  time  he  must  have  become  aware  that  he  was  capable 
of  much  higher  things,  for  the  ^  Essay  on  Criticism  '  was  pub- 
lished in  1711,  and  in  1714,  the  year  after  the  publication  of 
*  Windsor  Forest,'  appeared  his  acknowledgedmasterpiece,  *  The 
Rape  of  the  Lock.'  * 

The  incidents  on  which  this  celebrated  poem  is  founded 
are  well  known.  Lord  Petre  had  cut  off  a  lock  of  hair  from 
the  head  of  Miss  Arabella  (or,  as  Pope  calls  her.  Miss  Belle) 
Fermor,  and  his  gallantry  had  given  the  lady  offence.  The  parties 
were  Roman  Catholics,  and  Pope,  who  was  probably  acquainted 
with  them  in  this  way,  was  asked  by  a  common  friend,  John 
Caryll,  a  gentleman  of  Sussex,  to  effect  a  reconciliation.  In 
answer  to  the  appeal  the  poet  wrote  the  '  Rape  of  the  Lock.' 
As  composed  at  first,  the  poem  contained  neither  the  machinery, 
nor  the  description  of  Belinda's  toilet,  nor  her  voyage  on  the 
Thames,  nor  the  game  of  cards,  nor  the  moralising  speech  of 
Clarissa  in  the  third  book.  Yet  even  in  this  ruder  form, 
Addison,  to  whom  Pope  showed  it,  pronounced  it  to  be  ^  merum 
sal,'  and  when  the  poet  confided  to  him  his  design  of  inserting 
the  machinery,  advised  him  not  to  touch  it.  Pope  ascribed  the 
advice  to  envy  and  bad  faith ;  as  we  doubt  not,  unreasonably. 
Addison  had  praised  the  poem  liberally  before  Pope  suggested 
the  alteration  ;  as  an  experienced  writer,  he  knew  that  to  alter 
was  not  always  to  improve  ;  and  he  had  no  means  of  knowing 
beforehand  the  felicity  of  Pope's  invention.  The  slight  differ- 
ence thus  produced  between  the  two  friends  widened  into  a 
breach  on  the  simultaneous  appearance  of  the  rival  translations 
of  the  *  Iliad.' 

Many  ingenious  theories  have  been  offered  to  account  for  the 
universal  pleasure  excited  by  the  '  Rape  of  the  Lock,'  yet  we 
know  of  none  that  is  completely  satisfactory.  Johnson  appears 
to  agree  with  Warburton  in  assigning  its  charm  almost  entirely 
to  the  invention  of  the  machinery,  but  this  explanation  cannot  be 
acc^ted,  as  Addison  was  delighted  with  the  poem  before  it  had 
any  machinery  at  all.  Bowles,  who  sought  to  make  it  an  example 
of  his  own  theory  that  poems  of  manners  are  inferior  to  poems 
of  passion,  described  it  as  primarily  a  poem  of  manners ;  but  he 
is  evidently  wrong,  for  manners*  in  themselves  are  not  essential 
to  mock-heroic  poetry.  Mr.  El  win,  in  company  with  Hazlitt,  is 
inclined  to  regard  the  poem  as  a  satire  ;  but  in  its  first  form  it 
was  almost  entirely  wanting  in  those  touches  of  moral  pleasantry 
which  were  afterwards  added  without  in  any  way  affecting  the 
main  desig^. 

*  The  first  edition  appeared  in  1712. 

z2  To 


340  Mr,  Elwin'5  Pope. 

To  appreciate  the  success  of  the  *  Rape  of  the  Lock/  we  ought 
to  consider  its  real  nature.  It  is  a  mock-heroic  poem,  and  the 
whole  and  sole  end  of  this  species  of  composition  is  to  *  mock ' 
the  epic.  It  ought  to  mock  the  greatness  of  the  epic  action, 
persons,  and  machinery ;  and  in  accomplishing  this,  the  *  Rape 
of  the  Lock '  approaches  more  nearly  to  perfect  correctness  than 
any  mock-heroic  poem  in  existence.  This  may  be  seen  if  it  be 
compared  with  its  two  most  celebrated  rivals,  '  La  Secchia 
Rapita  '  and  ^  Le  Lutrin.'  The  subject  of  the  former  is  the  war 
between  Modena  and  Bologna,  occasioned  by  the  capture  of  a 
bucket  in  a  midnight  raid  on  Bologna  by  the  Modenese.  Here 
the  cause  of  the  action  is  small,  and  there  is  much  humour  in  the 
narrative  of  the  inadequate  incidents  that  led  to  great  resulti ; 
the  embassies  for  the  recovery  of  the  bucket  and  the  council  of 
the  gods  are  admirably  ludicrous.  But  when  he  had  got  thus 
far,  the  poet's  materials  failed  him  ;  the  action,  though  not  heroic, 
was  certainly  not  small ;  there  is  nothing  ludicrous  in  actual 
war.  Three-fourths  of  Tassoni's  poem  are  in  consequence  doU 
or  trivial. 

The  action  of  the  ^  Lutrin,'  on  the  other  hand,  is  conducted 
throughout  with  perfect  propriety.      Nothing  could   be   mO^ 
insignificant  than  the  quarrel  about  the  position  of  a  readioMB' 
desk  which  distracted  tne  Chapter  of  la  Sainte  Chapelle.      ti^^ 
though  the  action  is  small,  the  passions  excited  by  it  are  rea-S^T 
great ;  and  the  merit  of  the  poem  lies  entirely  in  the  scope      ^^ 
the  satire.    Wherever  the  mock-heroic  form  intensifies  the  satE^  ^^» 
Boileau  is  successful.     But,  contrarily,  the  satire  often 
down  the  mock-heroic  to  the  gross  level  of  the  objects  satirL 
Boileau  wanted  art  to  heighten  the  meanness  of  his  action ; 


incidents  are  few  and   poorly  contrived ;   and  his  machine  "^^^ 


besides  being  frequently  superfluous,  is   sometimes   absolu 
incorrect. 

From  faults  like  these  the  *  Rape  of  the  Lock'  is  entir^^v 
free.     The  action  described  is  of  the  smallest ;  yet  from  first-      ^ 
last  it  is  conducted  with  an  ever-increasing  pomp  and  prwr^-^ 
which  culminates  in  the  celestial  transformation  of  the  *  l/x^^' 
Objects   the   most  trivial  assume   an   epic  importance ;  ev^^^J 
country  and   climate  is  laid   under  contribution   to   Belinda ^ 
toilet ;  the  pedigree  of  her  bodkin  is  described  as  majestically     ^ 
Agamemnon's  sceptre  in   the  *  Iliad  ;'  the  g^me   at  ombre     ^* 
as  lofty  as  Homer's  chariot-race ;  and  the  image  of  the  sea  ^^ 
chocolate  raging  beneath  the  mill,  with  which  Ariel  threatexs' 
the  negligent  sylph,  is  Mil  tonic.     An  air  of  perfect  breediiif 
pervades  the  whole  piece ;  the  satire,  if  that  may  be  called  satiiv 
which  never  exceeds  a  gay  pleasantry,  does  not  obtrude  itiel{ 


Mr.  Elwin'*  Pope.  341 

but  mingles  with,  and  is  imperceptibly  lost  in,  the  bright  hues 
with  which  the  poet  invests  the  toilet  of  his  heroine,  and  her 
progress  on  the  river.  Over  all  the  human  action  hovers  the 
aiiy  army  of  the  sylphs,  a  race  not  sufficiently  powerful  to 
preserve  the  Lock,  but  imagined  with  such  delicacy  and  dis- 
tinctness, that  it  is  impossible  not  to  believe  in  their  existence. 
Dennis  objects  to  them,  as  Johnson  seems  to  think  with  reason, 
that  they  neither  *  hasten  nor  retard  the  main  event.'  But  their 
power,  after  all,  only  differs  in  degree  from  that  of  the  gods  in 
the  *  Iliad,'  who  are  equally  with  the  sylphs  bound  by  the  decrees 
of  Fate ;  and  it  must  be  a  hard  heart  which  can  condemn  such 
delicate  beings  for  their  impotence  and  insubstantiality.  The 
chief  blot  in  the  poem,  and  that  is  but  a  venial  one,  is  the  battle 
between  the  wits  and  the  ladies,  which  Johnson  justly  describes 
as  degenerating  into  a  *  game  of  romps.'  But  all  faults  are  lost 
in  the  dazzling  brilliance  and  beauty  of  a  whole,  so  compact  of 
invention,  fancy,  grace,  and  wit,  that  there  is  not  one  point  in 
which  our  sense  of  the  ludicrous  perceives  a  deficiency,  or  our 
sense  of  proportion  discovers  an  excess.  It  is  easier  to  conceive 
of  an  age  so  debased  as  not  to  recognise  the  sublimity  of  *  Para- 
dise Lost,'  than  of  one  so  matter-of-fact  as  to  be  insensible  to  the 
humour  of  the  ^  Rape  of  the  Lock.' 

Such  a  triumph  could  scarcely  be  repeated,  and  in  our  opinion 
the  ^  Dunciad '  (1727)  makes  no  approach  to  the  correctness  of 
the  ^  Rape  of  tne  Lock.'  We  doubt  if  at  the  present  day  the 
former  poem  is  read  with  real  pleasure — and  there  is  good  reason 
why  it  should  not  be ;  it  is  not  founded  on  the  *•  truth  of  things.' 
The  subject  is  the  extension  of  the  Empire  of  Dulness  from  the 
city  to  general  society,  a  pretended  action  that  had  no  basis  of 
fact.  Pope  himself,  the  most  successful  poet  of  the  day,  was 
evidence  to  the  falseness  of  his  theme ;  the  popularity  of  the 
works  of  Swift,  Gn,y%  and  Arbuthnot,  showed  that  the  public 
knew  how  to  value  true  merit ;  and  even  if  the  King  and  the 
Court  were  notoriously  inaccessible  to  the  Muses,  the  doors 
of  Bolingbroke,  Bathurst,  Cobham,  Chesterfield,  and  a  host  of 
dthers,  were  always  open  to  welcome  them. 

What  had  Pope  to  show  in  support  of  his  argument  ?  That 
Theobald,  who  had  published  a  stupid  edition  of  Shakespeare, 
bad  spoken  ill  of  his  works  ;  that  Curll  had  piratically  printed 
a  volume  of  his  early  Correspondence ;  that  Dennis  had  criticised 
the  *  Rape  of  the  Lock ;'  that  Ralph,  Oldmixon,  Concanen,  and 
an  obscure  multitude,  of  whom  the  world  had  never  so  much  as 
beard  till  it  saw  their  names  in  the  ^  Dunciad,'  had  abused  his 
person,  libelled  his  character,  and  disparaged  his  genius.  Public 
cause  for  the  poem  there  was  none ;  but  its  private  motives  were 

obvious 


342  Mr.  Elwin'5  Pope. 

obvious  and  cogent.  Pope  intended  the  ^  Dunciad '  to  be  a 
satire  on  his  personal  enemies;  he  chose  the  mock-heroic  as 
the  form  best  adapted  to  display  his  own  genius,  and  to  bring 
into  the  strongest  relief  the  poverty  and  insignificance  of  his 
foes.  The  poem  was  perfectly  successful  in  accomplishing  its 
purpose  ;  but  the  purpose  was  temporary.  All  the  world 
laughed,  and  the  dunces  were  confounded.  But  when  the 
momentary  triumph  had  passed,  the  faults  of  the  design  stood 
apparent.  Pope  himself  confesses  that  he  had  not  annihilated 
his  enemies. 

'  Whom  have  I  hurt  ?  has  poet  yet  or  peer 
Lost  the  arched  eyebrow  or  Parnassian  sneer  ?' 

Judged  as  a  work  of  art,  there  is  no  famous  poem,  ancient 
or  modem,  which  shows   such  an  extraordinary  diroroportion 
between  the  means  and  the  end  as  the  '  Dunciad.'     Never  had       j 
dazzling  wit  and  rare  invention  been  lavished  on  such  mean  and      ^ 
contemptible  objects.      The  unworthiness  of  the  poet's  design 
worked  its  own  retribution ;  and  so  much  did  the  vulgarity  of 
the  subject  hamper  his  inventive  powers,  that  it  is  difficult  intb^^^ 
g^oss  atmosphere  to  recognise  the  delicate  and  airy  genius 
the  *Rape  of  the  Lock.'     There  is  no  real  movement  in 
action,  which  is  nothing  but  a  string  of  episodes  ;  the  parodi< 
are  commonplace ;  the  games  dull,  disgusting,  and  sometime 
inappropriate.     The  fourth  book  is  the  only  one  which  rises 
satiric  dignity  ;  in  this  book  the  poet  strikes  at  the  public  tasi 
and  the  energy,  eloquence,  and  music,  of  some  of  its 
are  unsurpassed ;  but  the  book  itself  was  an  after-thought,  d 
it  is  said,  to  the  suggestion  of  Warburton,  and  quite  unconnec' 
with  the  main  action. 

Of  all   Pope's   works   there   is  none  that  more  remarkaS^^-^ 
exhibits  his  powers  as  an  artist  than  hii '  Epistle  of  Eloisa. 
Abelard.'     Here  he  was  working  on  precisely  the  same  pr^ 
ciple  as  in  the  *  Messiah,'  but  with  a  far  more  correct  deai^"' 
From  first  to  last  there  is  scarcely  a  thought  in  the  poem  whi  ^-^^ 
he  can  call  his  own  ;  and  yet,  from  the  completeness  with  whi  ^^^ 
he  has  re-cast  his  materials,  not  one  of  his  compositions  ha^ 
more  original  air.     The  letters  in  Latin  are  written  with  mu' 
sensibility,  but  like  those  in  the  '  Nouvelle  Hclolse,'  they  are  m 
quite  natural.    We  seem  to  see  the  author  casting  about  in  his  oi 
mind  for  feelings  which  a  woman  like  Helo'ise  would  have 
likely  to  experience,  and  taking  care,  when  he  had  found  thec^^* 
to  give  them  an  elegant  expression.     But  Pope  has  so  selecte^^» 
combined,  heightened,  and  intensified  the  images  of  the  origin^-^ 
that  in  his  poem  Helo'ise  carries  away  our  sympathies  with  m^ 

overmastering 


Air,  Elwin's  Pope.  343 

overmastering  force.     Her  words  have  an  irresistible  eloquence ; 
they  rush ;  they  bum.     Perhaps  the  greatest  triumph  of  art  in 
this  wonderful  poem  is  the  influence  which  the  cloister  is  made 
to  exercise  on  the  imagination.      Nothing  can  be   more   im- 
pressive than  the  awful  gloom  of  the  opening  description,  which 
shows  Heloise  wondering  to  find  herself  still  thinking,  in  such 
precincts,  of  her  earthly  love ;  nothing  more  artful  than  the 
rapture  of  memory,  which  bears  her  for  the  moment  beyond  the 
consciousness  of  time  and   place ;    nothing  more  pathetically 
tragical  than  her  re-awakening  to  the  presence  of  the  marble 
sa.ints,  and  the  sense  that  her  life  is  devoted  to  the  contemplation 
of  God,  while  her   heart   is   ever   reverting  to  the   image   of 
A^belard. 

So  deeply  is  the  poet's  imagination  impressed  with  the  genius 
of*  the  place,  that  he  at  times  sacrifices  to  it  a  dramatic  thought 
oC  the  original.  *  I  accompanied  you,'  writes  Heloise,  *  with 
tejrror  to  the  foot  of  the  altar,  and  while  you  stretched  out  your 
haixid  to  touch  the  sacred  cloth,  I  heard  you  pronounce  distinctly 
those  fatal  words,  which  for  ever  separated  you  from  all  men.' 
^liis,  it  seems  to  us,  is  beautiful.  The  passion  of  Heloise  is  so 
ftJl  and  complete,  that  she  thinks  of  Abelard's  vow  rather  than 
^^  lier  own.     But  Pope  makes  her  think  of  herself. 

'  Canst  thou  forget  that  sad,  that  solemn  day, 
When  victims  at  yon  altar's  feet  we  lay  ? 
Canst  thou  forget  what  tears  that  moment  fell. 
When  warm  in  youth  I  bade  the  world  farewell  ? 
As  with  cold  lips  I  kissed  the  sacred  veil. 
The  shrines  all  trembled  and  the  lamps  grew  pale. 
Heaven  scarce  believed  the  conquest  it  surveyed, 
And  saints  with  wonder  heard  the  vows  I  msbde.' 

^  In  spite  of  the  greatness  of  the  imagery  in  this  passage,  we 

^^h  that  Pope  had  followed  his  text.     In  some  passages,  on  the 

^^l^cr  hand,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  he  has  followed  it  too 

<^Iosely.      The   bold   defiance   of    Heloise's   avowals   outstrips 

?^odesty,   and   goes   beyond   the   limits   of  nature,   while   the 

•"^^^cnsity  with  which  her  imagination  pursues  the  most  painful 

^Of)llections  of  Abelard's  history  exceeds  the  just  limits  of  art. 

~^t  as  a  whole  the  ^  Epistle '  is  far  ahead  of  anything  of  the  kind 

^^     ancient  or  modem  verse.     The  picture  of  the  unfortunate 

^oinan,  distracted  between  the  memory  of  love  and  the  instinct 

^^   devotion,  is  unsurpassed,  and  we  know  not  where  in  English 

P^^^try  we  should  find  anything,  for  direct  eloquence  of  passion, 

^  excel  the  following : — 

'  Of  all  affiction  taught  a  lover  yet 
'Tis  sure  the  hardest  science  to  forget. 

How 


344  Mr.  Elwin's  Pope. 

How  shall  I  lose  the  sin  yet  keep  the  sense^  ' 
And  love  th'  offender  yet  detest  th'  offence  ? 
How  the  dear  object  from  the  crime  remove  ? 
Or  how  distingmiBh  penitence  from  love  ? 
Unequal  task !  a  passion  to  resign 
For  hearts  so  touched,  so  pierced,  so  lost  as  mine  I 
Ere  such  a  soul  regain  its  peaceful  state 
How  often  must  it  love,  how  often  hate ! 
How  often  hope,  despair,  resent,  regret, 
Conceal,  disdain — do  all  things  but  forget  I 
But  let  heaven  seize  it,  all  at  once  'tis  fired ; 
Not  touched,  but  rapt ;  not  wakened  but  inspired ! 
O  come  I  O  teach  me  nature  to  subdue, 
Benounce  my  love,  my  life,  myself — and  you. 
Fill  my  fond  heart  with  God  alone,  for  He 
Alone  can  rival,  can  succeed  to  thee.' 

Mr.    Elwin   rightly   regards   the    *  Epistle'    and  the 
of  the   Lock'   as   the   most  perfect   of  Pope*s  works,  ; 
quote   his  remarks   as  a  fair  specimen  of  his   discrim 
criticism : — 

<The  <<Bape  of  the  Lock"  and  the  <' Epistle  of  Eloisa 
alone  in  Pope's  works.  He  produced  nothing  else  which  re 
them.  They  have  the  merit  of  being  masterpieces  in  opposit 
The  first  is  remarkable  for  its  delicious  finncy  and  sportiv 
the  second  for  its  fervid  passion  and  tender  melancholy.  Tn 
of  such  rare  and  such  di&rent  excellence  would  alone  entitle 
his  fame.  Like  most  great  authors,  he  published  not  a  litt! 
is  mediocre ;  but  he  is  to  be  estimated  by  the  qualities  in  i 
soared  above  the  herd,  and  not  by  the  lower  range  of  mind  ^ 
possessed  in  common  with  inferior  men.  The  *'  Bape  of  the  ] 
a  higher  effort  of  genius  than  the  Epistle.  Pope's  adaptatio 
aery,  refulgent  sylphs  to  the  ephemeral  trivialities  of  fodiioni 
the  admirable  art  with  which  he  fitted  his  fairy  machiner 
follies  and  commonplaces  of  a  giddy  London  day ;  the  poei 
which  ho  threw  around  his  sarcastic  narrative,  and  which  un 
it  as  naturally  as  does  the  rose  with  its  thorny  stem,  are 
borrowed  beauties,  and  consummate  in  their  kind.  The  s 
sentiments  of  Eloisa  were  prejMired  to  his  hand,  and  the 
limited  to  the  strength  and  sweetness  of  his  language  and 
tion,  and  to  the  vigour  with  which  he  appropriated  and  ex 

single  leading  idea Of  Pope's  better  qualities  the  chiej 

to  have  been  a  certain  tenderness  of  heart,  and  this  enable 
enter  into  liie  feelings  of  Eloisa.  He  employed  all  the  rc& 
his  choicest  verse  to  perfect  the  picture ;  and  though  the  d 
transferred  from  the  letters  deprived  him  of  the  credit  of  i 
the  supposed  historic  truth  of  the  representation  increased  t 
The  difference  between  legitimate  and  worthless  imitation  ( 
be  more  forcibly  illustrated  than  by  comparing  the  tame  h 


Mr.  Elwin**  Pope.  345 

and  affected  love-babble  of  his  Pastorals,  with  the  local  descriptioiis 
and  impassioned  strains  in  his  "  Epistle  of  Eloisa." '  * 

£ut  It  isy  after  all,  on  his  didactic  poems,  as  forming  the 
greater  part  of  his  works,  and  showing  the  extent  of  his  resources, 
tha.t  Pope's  reputation  as  a  poet  most  securely  rests.  Hitherto 
we  have  seen  him  excelling  in  those  forms  of  composition  where 
fancy  and  imagination  have  abundant  room,  but  in  his  didactic 
poetry  he  was  restricted  by  the  limitations  of  moral  truth.  And 
in  Judging  of  his  correctness  in  this  class  of  poetry,  it  must  be 
remembered  that  his  task  was  by  no  means  so  simple  as  the 
limitation  seems  to  imply  ;  for  though  truth  be  apparently  the 

Srimary  object  of  didactic  poetry,  its  actual  object  is  pleasure. 
fo  doubt  as  Horace  says,  its  design  is  to  'mingle  the  useful 
with  the  pleasant,  but  it  must  be  pleasant  first  and  useful 
afterwards.  The  poet  who  should  seek  to  maka  truth  his  first 
consideration,  to  convince  rather  than  persuade,  to  appeal  to  the 
I'^ason  before  the  imagination,  would  be  a  bad  artist ;  and  those 
parts  of  his  poem  in  which  philosophical  forms  should  predomi- 
nate over  poetical,  would  be  essentially  incorrect,  because  their 
unbalance  could  be  expressed  in  prose  better  than  in  verse. 
Hence  we  are  inclined  to  consider  the  *  Essay  on  Man '  the 
•nost  incorrect  of  Pope's  didactic  pieces,  as  the  philosophy  is 
^nrust  into  ostentatious  prominence. 

Besides,  in  abstract  reasoning  Pope  was  by  no  means  pro- 
^cient.  He  had  not  that  native  power  of  mind  which  made 
^-^ryden  such  a  master  of  poetical  debate,  and  he  was  a  poor 
logician,  as  is  evident  from  the  bare-faced  petitio  principii  with 
^'^ich  he  opens  the  argument  of  the  *  Essay,' 

'  Of  systems  possible,  if  'tis  confest 
That  wisdom  infinite  must  form  the  best, 
Where  all  must  fall  or  not  coherent  be, 
And  all  that  rises  rise  in  due  degree ; 
Then  in  the  scale  of  reasoning  life  'tis  plain 
There  must  be  somewhere  such  a  rank  as  man ; 
And  all  the  question  (wrangle  e'er  so  long) 
Is  only  this, — ^If  God  has  placed  him  Mrrong.' 

It  is  not  quite  true,  as  De  Quincey  contends,  that  *all  Pope's 

^*^inldng  was  the  result  of  discontinuous  jets.'     The  argument 

^  the  ^  Essay  on  Man,'  though  it  is  confused  and  inconsistent^ 

^^  yet  a  connected  whole.     But  his  general  notions  of  things 

^ere  all  borrowed,  and  though  he  spared  no  pains  to  master 

^ttier  men's  thoughts,  the  frequent  defectiveness  of  his  philo* 

♦  Elwin'a  *  Pope,'  vol.  li.  pp.  232,  233. 

sophical 


346  Mr.  Elwin'5  Pope. 

sophical  expression  shows  that  his  labour  was  not  uniformly 
successful.  Mr.  Elwin  devotes  a  masterly  and  exhaustive  arga- 
ment  to  the  exposure  of  the  fallacies  in  the  '  Essay ; '  while 
Pope's  ostentatious  theory  of  the  ^ruling  passion/  and  the 
solemn  commonplace  of  his  observations  on  the  motives  of  the 
miser  and  prodigal,  in  his  '  Epistle  on  the  Use  of  Riches,'  furnish 
additional  proof,  if  that  were  needed,  that  his  philosophy  was 
shallow  and  contracted. 

But  the  less  he  succeeds  as  a  thinker,  the  more  he  triumphs  as 
a  poet.  That  a  work  like  the  ^  Essay  on  Man/  with  all  its 
defects  of  reasoning,  should  have  been  subjected  to  serious  refu- 
tation by  critics  like  Crousaz  and  Mr.  Elwin,  is  a  proof  of  Pope's 
mastery  over  those  arts  of  persuasion  which  are  the  secret  of  all 
successful  rhetoric,  whether  in  verse  or  prose. 

'This  essay,'  says  Johnson,  'affords  an  egregious  instance  of  the 
prodominance  of  genius,  the  dazzling  splendour  of  imagery,  and  the 
seductive  powers  of  eloquence.    Never  were  penury  of  knowledge  and 

vulgarity  of  sentiment  more  happily  disguised The  vigoions 

contraction  of  some  thoughts,  the  luxuriant  amplification  of  others, 
the  incidental  illustrations,  and  sometimes  the  grandeur,  sometiiDes 
the  softness  of  the  verses,  enchain  philosophy,  suspend  criticisiii,  and 
oppress  judgment  by  overpowering  pleasure.' 

Pope's  qualifications  ^for  didactic  poetry  lay  chiefly  in  his 
knowledge  of  character,  his  correctness  of  taste  and  judgment, 
and  his  power  of  arrangement  and  illustration. 

As  a  historical  portrait  painter  he  may  be  compared  with 
Dryden.  Dryden  was  the  poet  of  an  age  of  faction,  conspiracy, 
and  controversy  ;  Pope,  of  an  era  of  peace  and  speculation. 
Dryden,  therefore,  excels  in  the  epical  description  of  character, 
and  Pope  in  the  ethical.  In  the  former,  the  leading  features  of 
strong  characters  in  action  are  represented  with  extraordinai}' 
power  ;  in  the  latter,  the  secret  springs  and  motives  of  hnmao 
conduct  are  traced  with  unequalled  subtlety.  There  is  nothing 
in  Pope  that  can  compare  with  the  force  and  dignity  of 
conception  in  the  characters  of  Achitophel  and  Zimri.  On 
the  other  hand,  there  is  nothing  in  Dryden  to  match  the  rare 
delicacy  of  the  portrait  of  Atticus,  or  the  ethical  impressiveness 
of  the  lines  on  Buckingham,  or  the  deep  irony  of  the  dying 
speech  of  Euclio.  Dryden  is  the  superior  in  strength,  imap* 
nation,  and  originality  ;  Pope  in  variety,  finish,  and  observation. 
Dryden  has  left  no  character  of  a  woman.  Pope's  female  por- 
traits are  numerous,  and  Chloe  and  Atossa  are  drawn  in  his 
happiest  vein. 

His  judgment  and  good  sense  are  conspicuous  in  the  maxim* 

of 


Mr.  Elwln'^  Pope.  347 

riticism  which  are  scattered  through  his  work.  Besides  the 
id  knowledge  of  his  own  art,  he  was  acquainted  with  the 
iciples  of  all  the  others.  In  his  ^  Epistle  to  Jervas/  he  cha- 
erises  with  great  felicity  the  points  of  the  chi6f  masters  of 
iting.  His  taste  in  gardening  was  proverbial.  In  our 
ober  number  we  quoted  Walpole's  eulogy  on  the  dispo- 
»n  of  his  grounds  at  Twickenham,  and  Kent  was  indebted 
lim  for  those  principles  of  landscape  gardening  which  he 
rwards  developed  into  a  system.  Pope  was  the  first  to 
nile  the  practice  of  universal  clipping,  and  the  application  of 
principles  of  sculpture  to  shrubs  and  trees,  where 

<  Amphitrite  soils  through  myrtle  bowers, 
And  gladiators  fight  and  die  in  flowers.' 

e  was  equally  severe  on  the  absurdity  of  preserving  the 
ing  fashion  of  the  time  in  monumental  marble — 

'  That  livelong  wig,  which  Gk)rgon*8  self  might  own. 
Eternal  buckle  tc^es  in  Parian  stone.' 

in  architecture  his  natural  good  taste  taught  him  to  laugh 
lly  at  the  frigid  symmetry  of  Canons,  and  at  those  followers 
art  for  art's  sake,'  who,  imitating  a  style  because  it  is  a 

'  Call  the  winds  through  long  arcades  to  roar, 
Proud  to  catch  cold  at  a  Venetian  door. 
Conscious  they  act  a  true  Palladian  part. 
And  if  they  starve,  they  starve  by  rules  of  art.'    . 

me  of  his  finest  lines  are  written  in  praise  of  public  engi- 
ng:— 

'  Bid  harbours  open,  public  ways  extend. 
Bid  temples,  worthier  of  the  Gk)d,  ascend, 
Bid  the  broad  arch  the  dangerous  flood  contain. 
The  mole  projected  break  the  roaring  main ; 
Back  to  his  bounds  the  subject  sea  command, 
And  roll  obedient  rivers  through  the  land : 
These  honours  peace  to  happy  Britain  brings ; 
These  are  imperial  works,  and  worthy  kings.' 

» poet  ever  possessed  a  more  completed  command  over  his 
rials.  He  had  the  finest  perception  of  the  value  of  indi- 
tl  thoughts  and  of  their  relative  proportion  to  the  whole 
.  The  ^  Essay  on  Criticism,'  the  most  technical  of  all  his 
ositions,  is  clothed  with  an  air  of  brightness,  and  even  of 
,  by  the  wealth  of  epigram,  metaphor,  and  illustration  with 
1  the  various  maxims  are  supported.     And  in  the  same 

way^ 


348  Mr.  Elwin'jf  Pope. 

vtslYj  in  the  ^  Essay  on  Man,'  after  passages  of  the  most  abstract 
reasoning,  the  mind  of  the  reader  is  suddenly  relieved  by  the 
introduction  of  some  beautiful  image  like  the  ^poor  Indian' or 
^  the  lamb.'  In  the  difficult  art  of  transition  he  was  a  master, 
and  his  skill  in  this  particular  is  nowhere  more  visible  than  in 
the  latter  half  of  the  ^  Epistle  on  the  Use  of  Riches.'  His  bril- 
liant invention  found  opportunities,  even  where  its  sphere  seemed 
most  confined.  We  know  not  whether  to  admire  most,  in  his 
'  Imitations  of  Horace,'  the  felicity  with  which  he  discovers 
likenesses  between  himself  and  the  Roman  poet,  or  the  irony 
with  which,  while  seeming  to  suggest  a  parallel,  he  emphasises 
the  differences  in  their  respective  situations. 

The  correctness  of  Pope's  language  has  been  variously  judged. 
Some  critics  regard  him  as  a  kind  of  ^  faultless  monster.  This 
opinion  is  untenable.  ^  If,'  says  Hazlitt, '  he  had  no  great  faults, 
he  is  full  of  little  errors.  His  grammatical  construction  is  often 
lame  and  imperfect  ...  In  the  ^*  Translation  of  the  Iliad,"  which 
has  been  considered  his  masterpiece  in  style  and  execution,  he 
continually  changes  the  tenses  in  the  same  sentence  for  the  pur- 
poses of  the  rhyme,  which  shows  either  a  great  want  of  technical 
resources  or  great  inattention  to  punctilious  exactness.'  VVe 
believe  it  to  have  been  the  latter.  That  Pope  should  have 
given  the  same  pains  to  finish  the  ^  Translation,  which  he  gave 
to  his  shorter  poems,  is  not  to  be  expected.  It  was  a  mechanical 
task,  intended  to  have  been  performed  by  fifty  lines  a  day, 
and  the  probability  is  that,  under  such  conditions,  he  did  n^^ 
conceive  himself  bound  to  laborious  accuracy.  Mr.  Elwin, 
however,  considers  that  his  errors  were  the  result  of  a  poetical 
incapacity.  *  Language,'  says  he,  '  not  industry,  failed  hifl** 
Happy  in  a  multitude  of  phrases,  lines,  couplets,  and  passages^ 
his  vocabulary*and  turns  of  expression  were  oflen  unequal  to  the 
exactions  of  verse.' 

If  this  censure  had  been  made  more  particular,  we  could  bav^ 
agreed  with  it.  We  think  it  will  be  found  that  most  of  Poj** 
inaccuracies  of  expression,  and  especially  his  harsh  ellipse 
occur  in  those  parts  of  his  didactic  poems  where  his  though^ 
is  most  abstract.  To  put  such  thoughts  into  verse  at  all  is  ^ 
task  of  extreme  difficulty,  and,  as  we  have  said,  it  was  one  foi" 
which  Pope's  powers  by  no  means  thoroughly  qualified  him- 
In  the  passages  referred  to  he  fails  in  expression,  not  so  mQcn 
for  want  of  words  as  for  want  of  a  complete  mastery  over  th<^ 
thought  to  be  expressed.  De  Quincey,  one  of  his  severest  judge** 
blames  him,  not  without  reason,  for  the  obscurity  of  his  philos*^' 
phical  expression,  and  quotes  in  support  of  his  opinion  ^ 
couplet, 


Mr.  Elwin'^  Pope.  349 

'  Enow  God  and  Nature  always  are  the  same : 
In  man  the  judgment  shoots  at  flying  game.' 

it  he  has  the  temerity  to  pursue  Pope  further,  and  to 
enge  him  on  ground  where  we  venture  to  say  he  is  un- 
[able.  Of  all  passages,  he  ventures  to  impugn  (with  the 
)val  of  Mr.  Elwin)  the  correctness  of  the  writing  in  the 
icter  of  Atticus  :  let  the  reader  judge  with  what  success. 

'  Peace  to  all  such  I  but  were  there  one  whose  fires 
True  genius  kindles,  and  fair  fame  inspires ; 
Blessed  with  each  talent  and  each  art  to  please, 
And  bom  to  write,  converse,  and  live  with  ease ; 
Should  such  a  man,  too  fond  to  rule  alone. 
Bear,  like  the  Turk,  no  brother  near  the  throne ; 
View  him  with  scornful  yet  with  jealous  eyes. 
And  hate  for  arts  that  caused  himself  to  rise ; 
Damn  with  faint  praise,  assent  with  civil  leer, 
And  without  sneering  teach  the  rest  to  sneer ; 
Willing  to  wound,  and  yet  afraid  to  strike. 
Just  hmt  a  fftult,  and  hesitate  dislike ; 
Alike  reserved  to  blame  or  to  commend, 
A  timorous  foe,  and  a  suspicious  friend ;} 
Dreading  e'en  fools,  by  flatterers  besieged, 
And  so  obliging  that  he  ne'er  obliged ; 
Like  Cato  give  his  little  senate  laws, 
And  sit  attentive  to  his  own  applause ; 
While  wits  and  templars  every  sentence  raise, 
And  wonder  with  a  foolish  face  of  praise — 
Who  but  must  laugh  if  such  a  man  there  be  ? 
Who  would  not  weep,  if  Atticus  were  he?' 

Hiy,'  says  De  Quincey  upon  this^  *  must  we  laugh  ?  Because  we 
a  grotesque  assembly  of  noble  and  ignoble  qualities.  Very  well, 
^ny  then  must  we  weep?  Because  this  assemblage  is  found 
fly  CTisting  in  an  eminent  man  of  genius.  Well,  that  is  a  good 
n  for  weeping ;  we  weep  for  the  degradation  of  human  nature. 
Qien  revolves  the  question,  why  must  we  laugh  ?  Because  if  the 
i^^ng  to  a  man  of  genius  were  a  sufficient  reason  for  weeping,  so 
1  we  know  from  the  very  first.    The  very  first  line  says : — 

^  Peace  to  all  such  I  but  were  there  one  whose  fires 
Tnie  genius  JcindleSy  and  fair  fame  inspires." 

I  &lls  to  the  ground  the  whole  antithesis  of  this  famous  cha- 
ir. We  are  to  change  our  mood  from  laughter  to  tears  upon  a 
en  discovery  that  the  character  belonged  to  a  man  of  genius,  and 
we  had  vAxeadj  known  from  the  beginning.  Match  us  this  pro- 
m  oversight  in  Shakespeare ! ' 

Match 


350  Mr.  Elwln'«  Pope. 

Match  us,  rather,  so  prodigious  an  oversight  in  any  critic  of 
De  Quincey's  talent  and  acuteness  I    The  point  has  been  entirely 
missed.     We  are  not  to  weep  because  this  assembly  of  noble 
and  ignoble  qualities  is  found  in  a  man  of  genius,  but  because 
it  is  found  in  Atticus,     We  laugh  like  Democritus  at  the  ridi-  -. 
culous  incongruity  of  human  nature.     We  weep  when  we  know^ 
that  the  incongruity  exists  in  the  most  refined  of  humourists,,^ 
the  most  delightful  of  companions,  the  ever-welcome  *  Spectator,^^== 
the  author  of  *  Sir  Roger.' 

The  language  of  Pope  is  of  the  most  varied  excellence.  W^« 
have  seen  him  ardent  and  impassioned  in  his  ^  Eloisa,'  delicat^^ 
and  discriminating  in  his  ^  Atticus ;'  let  us  exemplify  his  powei — ^ 
of  epic  enthusiasm  by  the  concluding  lines  of  the  ^  Dunciad  ^ 
The  passage  is  supposed  to  be  so  well  known,  that  we  perha; 
owe  our  readers  an  apology  for  giving  it  at  length ;  but  as 
are  contending  for  Pope's  correctness,  we  feel  sure  that  the  moi 
closely  the  lines  are  examined,  and  the  elements  that  com 
the  noble  effect  analysed,  the  more  perfect  will  appear  the  p 
priety  of  each  image,  and  the  strength,  terseness,  and  accnra^;:^^ 
of  each  expression : — 

'  In  vain,  in  vain — the  all-composing  hour 
Besistless  fieJls ;  the  Muse  obeys  the  power. 
She  comes  I  she  comes  I  the  sable  throne  behold 
Of  night  primeval,  and  of  Chaos  old ! 
Before  her  Fancy's  gilded  clouds  decay, 
And  all  its  varying  rainbows  die  away. 
Wit  shoots  in  vain  its  momentary  fires 
The  meteor  drops,  and  in  a  flash  expires. 
As  one  by  one,  at  dread  Medea's  strain. 
The  sickening  stars  fade  off  th'  ethereal  plain ; 
As  Argus*  eyes  by  Hermes'  wand  opprest, 
Clos*d  one  by  one  to  everlasting  rest ; 
Thus  at  her  felt  approach,  and  secret  might, 
Art  after  art  goes  out  and  all  is  night. 
See  skulking  Truth  to  her  old  cavern  fled, 
Mountains  of  casuistry  hcap'd  o'er  her  head ! 
Philosophy,  that  lean'd  on  Heaven  before, 
Shrinks  to  her  second  cause  and  is  no  more. 
Physic  of  Metaphysic  begs  defence, 
And  Metaphysic  calls  for  aid  on  sense  ! 
See  Mystery  to  Mathematics  fly ! 
In  vain !  they  gaze,  turn  giddy,  rave,  and  die. 
Beligion,  blushing  veils  her  sacred  &res, 
And  unawares  Morality  expires  I 
Nor  public  flame,  nor  private,  dares  to  shine ; 
Nor  human  spark  is  left,  nor  glimpse  divine !  . 


Mr.  Elwin'jf  Pope.  351 

Lo :  thy  dread  empire,  Chaos  I  is  restored ; 
Light  dies  before  tiiy  ancreating  word : 
Thy  hand,  great  Anarch  I  lets  the  curtain  &11 ; 
And  uniyei^al  darkness  buries  all.' 

:ontrast  to  this,  take  the  exquisite  grace  of  the  follow- 

*  Just  then,  Clarissa  drew  with  tempting  grace 
A  two-edged  weapon  from  her  shining  case : 
So  ladies  in  romance,  assist  their  knight, 
Present  the  spear,  and  arm  him  for  the  fight. 
He  takes  the  gift  with  reverence,  and  extends 
The  little  engine  on  his  fingers'  ends ; 
This  just  behind  Belinda's  neck  he  spread, 
As  o'er  the  fragrant  streams  she  bends  her  head. 
Swift  to  the  lock  a  thousand  sprites  repair, 
A  thousand  wings,  by  turns,  blow  back  the  hair ; 
And  thrice  they  twitched  the  diamond  in  her  ear ; 
Thrice  she  looked  back,  and  thrice  the  foe  drew  near 
Just  in  that  instant,  anxious  Ariel  sought 
The  close  recesses  of  the  virgin's  thought : 
As  on  the  nosegay  in  her  br^t  reclined 
He  watched  the  ideas  rising  in  her  mind. 
Sudden  he  viewed,  in  spite  of  all  her  art. 
An  earthly  lover  lurking  at  her  heart ; 
Amazed,  confused,  he  found  his  power  expired, 
Besigned  to  fate,  and  with  a  sigh  retired.' 

;  inventive  turn  of  his  satire  exhibits  itself  in  the  fine 
f  making  Dulncss  quench  Gibber's  holocaust  with  a  frigid 
of  Ambrose  Phillips.     The  last  line  is  very  expressive : — 

*  Boused  by  the  light  old  Dulness  heaved  the  head 
Then  snatched  a  sheet  of  "  Thule  "  from  her  bed ; 
Sudden  she  flies,  and  whehns  it  o'er  the  pyre ; 
Down  sink  the  flames,  and  with  a  hiss  expire.' 

ter  still  in  point  of  delicacy  of  expression  is  the  stroke  at 
ity  Muse,  and  the  Lord  Mayor's  Ode : — 

'  Now,  night  descending,  the  proud  scene  was  o'er, 
But  lived  in  Settle's  numbers,  one  day  more.* 

r  happy  selection  of  images  and  words  we  may  mention 
Death  of  Buckingham,'  or  the,  perhaps,  less  well-known 
re  of  the  Miser's  House  : — 

'  Like  some  lone  Chartreux  stands  the  good  old  hall 
Silence  without,  and  fasts  within  the  wall ; 
No  raftered  roofs  with  dance  and  tabor  sound, 
No  noontide  bell  invites  the  country  round ; 

Tenants 


352  Mr.  Elwin'*  Pope. 

Tenants  with  sighs  the  smokeless  towers  survey, 
And  turn  th'  nnwiUing  steeds  another  way ; 
Benighted  wanderers  the  forest  o'er 
Corse  the  saved  candle,  and  nnopening  door ; 
While  the  gaunt  mastifi^  growling  at  the  gate, 
Affrights  the  beggar  whom  he  longs  to  eat.' 

If  these  lines  are  admirable  for  their  force  and  distinctness^, 
the  following  couplet  is  as  remarkable  for  its  extreme  sensi-^ 
bilitj,  a  quality  in  which  Pope  is  sometimes  supposed  to  b^ 
deficient : — 

'  The  spider's  touch,  how  exquisitely  fine, 
Feds  at  each  thread  and  lives  along  the  lineJ 

Nor  can  we  omit  the  beautiful  verses  expressive  of  his  filiaJ 
piety.  Is  it  possible  that  the  man  who  wrote  them  could  hare 
been  the  monster  imagined  by  Macaulay  ? — 

'  0  friend  I  may  each  domestic  bliss  be  thine ! 
Be  no  unpleasing  melancholy  mine :  ' 
Me  let  the  tender  office  long  engage. 
To  rock  the  cradle  of  reposing  age, 
With  lenient  arts  extend  a  mother's  breath. 
Make  languor  smile,  and  smooth  the  bed  of  death ; 
Explore  the  thought,  explain  the  asking  eye, 
And  keep  awhile  one  parent  from  the  sky.' 

To  have  aimed  at  so  many  styles,  the  keenest  satire,  the  mo^'t 
delicate  humour,  the  loftiest  rhetoric,  the  truest  description,  tl»>^ 
most  tender  pathos,  and  to  have  succeeded  in  them  all,  is  a-^>3 
achievement  scarcely  within  the  power  of  a  laborious,  hiM^^ 
incapable,  versifier  whose  *  vocabulary  and  turns  of  expression  ^^^ 
were  often  inadequate  to  the  exactions  of  verse.'  

In  his  versification  Pope  has  sometimes  been  blamed  for 
excessive  evenness  and   supposed  uniformity.      Bowles,  in 
somewhat  hesitating  and  parenthetical  fashion,  gives  expressi(^ 
to  this  opinion  : — 

*  Pope  sometimes  wanted  a  variety  of  pause,  and  his  nice 
of  every  line  prevented,  in  a  few  instances,  a  more  musical  flow 
modulated  passages.  .  .  .  Johnson  seems  to  have  depreciated,  or 
have  been  ignorant  of,  the  metrical  powers  of  some  writers  prior 't^ 
Pope.     His  ear  seems  to  have  been  chiefly  caught  by  Dryden,  and  ^^ 
Pope's  versification  was  more  equably  (couplet  with  couplet  beizi^ 
considered,  not  passage  with  passage)  connected  than  Dr^den's,  ^^ 
thought  therefore  that  nothing  could  be  added  to  Pope's  versifiostion' 
I  should  think  it  the  extreme  of  arrogance  to  make  my  own  ear  tb^ 
criterion  of  music  ;  but  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  Dryden  ao^  ^ 
later  days,  Cowper  are  much  more  harmonious  in  their  genenl  ^^ 
fiification  than  Pope.     Whoever  candidly  compares  these  writtf* 

togetbari 


Mr.  Elwin'5  Pope.  353 

ogeiher,  unless  his  ear  be  habituated  to  a  certain  recnrrence  of  panses 
>r«ci8ely  at  the  end  of  a  line,  will  not  (though  he  will  give  the 
Eighest  praise  for  compactness,  skill,  precision,  and  force  to  Uie  indi- 
ridoal  couplets  of  Pope  separately  considered),  will  not,  I  think,  assent 
o  the  position  ihat  ^  in  yersification  what  he  found  brickwork  he  left 
rUe/" 


MHliateyer  Bowles  writes  is  worthy  of  consideration,  but  in  spite 
of  the  *  fine  ear '  for  which  Mr.  Elwin  justly  gives  him  credit, 
we  are  unable  to  follow  him  in  blaming  Pope  for  not  more  fre- 
quently breaking  the  pause  after  the  end  of  the  couplet,  while 
his  preference  of  Cowper  (whom  he  actually  classes  with 
Diyden),  as  a  miaster  of  the  heroic  measure,  over  Pope,  appears 
to  us  unaccountable. 

Dryden  and  Pope  each  used  the  couplet  in  the  way  that  best 
suited  their  own  genius.  Dryden's  style,  as  we  have  said 
hefore,  is  always  large  and  epical.  No  English  writer,  with  the 
fxception  of  Shakespeare,  can  approach  him  in  his  command  of 
idiomatic  English,  at  once  noble,  vigorous,  and  homely.  What 
^c  wanted  for  his  effects  was  point  and  room,  and  he  obtained 
^eseby  working  just  as  he  chose  within  the  limits  of  the  couplet, 
Fj^ich  he  relieved  by  the  frequent  introduction  of  the  triplet, 
-^us  his  thoughts  appear  to  be  struck  off  at  a  heat,  without  any 
appearance  of  balance  or  premeditation. 


^^  part  of  the  line  against  the  other,  and  the  first  line  against  the 
CH)nd.     In  this  way  he  packed  far  more  matter  into  his  couplets 

^^  Dryden*s  as  a  rule  ever  contain.     We  never  meet  in  Pope 

th  such  a  great  epical  couplet  as  this : — 

'  Great  wits  to  madness  nearly  are  allied, 
And  thin  partitions  do  their  bounds  divide.' 

4'or  do  we  find  in  Dryden  the  finish  and  balance  of  the  fol- 
ing:— 

'  Learn  of  the  little  nautilus  to  sail. 
Spread  the  thin  oar,  and  catch  the  driving  gale.' 

iwles  seems  to  imply  that  Dryden  wrote  with  a  view  to 

ges  of  combined  harmony.     We  doubt  this.     The  couplet 

-yden  is  quite  as  much  of  a  unit  as  in  Pope.     But  the  former 

\  in  debate ;  his  mind  was  crowded  with  images  which  he 

d  out  in  rapid  succession,  and  with  amazing  force  and 

ess.     Pope,  on  the  contrary,  while  pausing  at  the  end  of 

x>uplet,  really  writes  with  a  view  to  his  paragraph;  he 

143. — No.  286.  2  A  masies 


354  Mr.  Elwin'*  Pope. 

masses  his  effects  ;  each  couplet  is  varied  in  its  construction,  a 
each  by  a  subtle  association  of  sense  and  sound  is  so  linked 
its  predecessor  that  it  seems  an  essential  part  of  the  metrii 
whole. 

The  following  passages  majr  serve  as  examples  of  the  V 
poets'  respective  styles : — 

'  The  dame,  who  saw  her  fainting  foe  retired. 
With  foroe  renewed,  to  victory  aspired, 
And  looking  upward  to  her  kmdied  sky, 
As  once  our  Saviour  owned  his  deity, 
Pronounced  his  words,  ^  she  whom  ye  seek  am  I." 
Nor  less  amazed  this  voice  the  Panther  heard, 
Than  were  those  Jews  to  hear  a  Ood  declared. 
Then  thus  the  matron  modestly  renewed ; 
Let  all  your  prophets  and  their  sects  be  viewed. 
And  see  to  which  of  them  yourselves  think  fit 
The  conduct  of  your  conscience  to  submit. 
Each  proselyte  would  vote  his  doctor  bes^ 
With  absolute  exclusion  to  the  rest : 
Thus  would  your  Polish  diet  disagree. 
And  end,  as  it  began,  in  anarchy : 
Yourself  the  fairest  for  election  stand, 
Because  you  seem  crown-general  of  the  land : 
But  soon  against  your  superstitious  lawn 
The  Presbyterian  sabre  would  be  drawn. 
In  your  established  laws  of  sovereignty 
The  rest  some  fundamental  flaw  would  see. 
And  call  rebellion  Gospel  liberty.'  * 

The  next  is  from  the  '  Essay  on  Man :' — 

'  All  are  but  parts  of  one  stupendous  whole, 
Whose  body  Nature  is,  and  Grod  the  soul. 
That,  changed  through  all,  and  yet  in  all  the  same, 
Great  in  the  earth,  as  in  th'  ethereal  frame, 
Warms  in  the  sun,  refreshes  in  the  breeze. 
Glows  in  the  stars,  and  blossoms  in  the  trees ; 
Lives  through  all  life,  extends  through  all  extent, 
Spreads  un£vided,  operates  unspent ; 
Breathes  in  our  soul,  informs  our  mortal  part, 
As  full,  as  perfect,  in  a  hair,  as  heart ; 
As  full,  as  perfect,  in  vile  man  that  mourns. 
As  the  rapt  seraph  that  adores  and  bums ; 
To  him  no  high,  no  low,  no  great,  no  smaJl, 
He  fills,  he  bounds,  connects  and  equals  alL' 

Besides  the  obvious  difference  in  the  general  effect  of  the 
passages,  we  note  two  particular  effects  which  are  characterist 


*  c 


Hind  and  Panther.' 


Mr.  Elwin'i  Pope.  355 

df  the  respective  types  of  metrical  balance  in  the  two  poets ; 
one,  the  use  by  Dryden  of  the  triplet  which  Pope  almost  entirely 
abandoned ;  the  odier,  the  more  emphatic  marking  by  Pope  of 
the  caesura.  In  twenty-two  lines  of  the  ^  Hind  and  Panther ' 
ire  get  three  lines  like  the  following : — 

*  The  oonduct  of  your  conscience  to  submit ' 
'  With  absolute  exclusion  to  the  rest ' 

*  Some  Presbyterian  sabre  would  be  drawn.' 

It  is  too  much  to  say  that  Pope  never  composed  lines  of  this 
jpe,  for  we  have — 

*  Or  ravished  with  the  whistling  of  a  name.' 

*  We  lose  it  in  the  moment  we  detect.' 

^ut  such  lines  are  only  introduced  at  rare  intervals  to  relieve 
he  massiveness  and  antithesis  of  the  general  effect.  For  the 
une  reason,  and  for  the  sake  of  impressiveness,  we  occasionally 
ind  in  Pope  lines,  which  Mr.  Elwin  thinks  are  ^  not  metrical 
^ess  pronounced  with  a  strong  emphasis,  as — 

'  False  eloquence  like  thd  prismatic  glass.' 

•^hich,'  says  he,  *only  ceases  to  be  prose  when  ^^the"  and 
^elast  syllable  of  ^^  eloquence  "  are  accentuated,  and  it  is  then  no 
^Dger  English.'  We  venture  to  think  that  no  one  would  have 
t>jected  to  this  line  in  blank  verse  where  the  fall  of  the  accent 

precisely  the  same.  Though  not  regular,  the  line  is  extremely 
fective,  and  by  the  break  after  the  fourth  syllable  and  the 
Hiring  of  the  sixth,  the  antithesis  ^  false  eloquence,'  ^  prismatic 
asi,'  at  once  strikes  the  attention  through  the  ear. 

We  have  endeavoured  to  explain  the  true  grounds  on  which 
ope's  reputation   for  correctness   rests.     Defining  Correctness 

poetry  as  the  knowledge  and  command  of  those  effects  of 
etrical  composition  by  which  the  mind  is  naturally  pleased, 
s  have  sought  to  show  that,  judged  by  this  standard,  Pope 
Ls  every  right  to  be  considered  correct.  More  than  this,  he 
Ls  a  well-founded  title  to  the  position,  once  generally  conceded 

him,  as  tlije  correct  poet  of  England.  The  public  apprecia- 
>n  and  esteem  of  a  poet  may  be  accurately  gauged  by  the 
tent  to  which  he  is  quoted,  and  we  think  it  is  indisputable 
at  of  all  English  poets,  next  to  Shakespeare,  Pope  has  fur- 
ahed  the  largest  number  of  those  maxims  and  phrases  that 
LVe  a  currency  in  literature  and  conversation.     His  ambition, 

which  he  succeeded  like  Boileau,  was  that  his  verses  should 

'  Par  le  prompt  effet  d'un  sel  r^jouissant 
Devenir  quelquefois  proverbes  en  naissant.' 

2  A  2  His 


356  Mr.  Elwin'*  Pope. 

His  popularity  is  also  attested  b  j  the  number  and  ability  of 
his  editors.  Warburton,  Warton,  Wakefield,  Bowles,  Roiooe^ 
Mr.  Elwin  I  What  poet  except  Shakespeare  can  boast  of  sudi  t 
body-guard  of  scholars  willing  to  devote  their  time  and  learning 
to  the  arrangement  of  his  text  and  the  illustration  of  his  beantieif 
But,  after  all,  the  surest  proof  of  his  pre-eminent  correctnev 
lies  in  this,  that  he  is  of  all  our  poets — and  here  we  make  do 
exception — the  most  readable,  the  one  who  has  been  most  suc- 
cessful in  producing  the  pleasure  at  which  he  aimed  with  the 
least  mixture  of  alloy. 

A  brief  survey  of  the  field  of  English  poetry  will  show  w 
how  much,  even  in  our  most  famous  writers,  must  be  confeneft 
to  be  local  and  temporary.  Chaucer,  whose  correctness  in  desiga 
has  rarely  been  equalled,  was  necessarily  deficient  in  some  cT 
the  most  essential  materials  of  art ;  his  language  is  too  aidiiie 
to  be  read  with  instinctive  pleasure,  and  the  sense  of  Us  aOe* 
gories  is  obsolete.  Spenser,  unsurpassed  in  the  richness  ani 
splendour  of  his  resources,  and  the  picturesqueness  of  his  iimi- 
tion,  was  incorrect  in  his  design,  and  seems  not  to  have  ooo* 
sidered  that  to  sustain  the  attention  through  so  long  a  poem  li- 
the *•  FsBTj  Queen,'  without  the  element  of  human  interest,  ms 
impossible. 

'  Shakespeare  (whom  you  and  every  play-house  bQl 
Gall  the  divine  I  the  matchless !  what  you  will) 
For  gain,  not  glory,  winged  his  roving  flight, 
And  grew  immortal  in  his  own  despite.' 

His  mortal  parts  are  now  visible  in  much  obsolete  wit,  extit* 
vagance  of  fancy,  and  obscurity  of  expression.  These  tie  die 
poets  of  what  may  be  called  the  ante-critical  period  of  our  litoi* 
ture,  and  their  venial  incorrectness  springs  from  a  rednnchooe 
of  poetical  materials,  and  the  predominance  of  imagination  over 
judgment. 

A  new  period  began  with  the  Restoration. 

*  Late,  very  late,  correctness  grew  our  care, 
Wl\^n  the  tired  nation  breathed  from  civil  war.' 

The  most  celebrated  names  of  this  era  are  Milton,  Drjif^ 
Thomson,  Pope,  Gray,  Collins,  and  Goldsmith.  All  of  theit 
were  artists  in  the  truest  meaning  of  the  word ;  all  of  the* 
composed  with  a  conscious  and  careful  selection  of  material,  tni 
with  a  just  subordination  of  means  to  ends ;  hence  their  oott' 
positions  retain  unimpaired,  like  the  pictures  of  Rajdiael  tai 
Titian,  all  their  original  sense,  beauty,  and  harmony.  Of  die 
two  who  stand  first  on  the  list,  and  who  wrote  before  the  sweD 

aal 


Mr.  Elwin*^  Pope.  357 

«nd  tumult  of  the  Civil  War  had  quite  subsided,  Milton,  in 
point  of  blended  genius  and  art,  is  the  greatest  name  in  English 
poetij.  Yet  his  inspiration  sometimes  sinks  beneath  the  weight 
of  oontroversy  and  theology  peculiar  to  his  own  age : 

<  In  quibbles  angel  and  archangel  join ; 
And  God  the  Father  turns  a  school  diyine.' 

And  Dryden,  in  respect  of  genius  and  imagination,  a  greater 
hom  poet  than  Pope  himself, 

*  Even  copious  Dryden  wanted  or  forgot 
The  last  and  greatest  art — ^the  art  to  blot/ 

None  of  the  poets  of  this  epoch  who  wrote  in  the  compara- 
tiTely  calm  and  regular  atmosphere  that  prevailed  after  the 
Ktdement  of  1689  and  the  Peace  of  Utrecht,  err  through  care- 
kwiess.  Thomson,  however,  who,  in  fancy  and  richness  of 
description,  resembles  Spenser  on  a  small  scale,  is  less  correct 
Ain  me  rest.  His  manner  is  heavy ;  and  the  ^  Seasons,'  like 
Ae  'Faery  Queen,'  drags  in  the  absence  of  human  interest. 
Gntj,  Collins,  and  Goldsmith,  succeed  by  the  same  arts  as 
Pope,  but,  as  the  number  of  their  compositions  stands  to  his  in 
tbe  ratio  of  about  one  to  ten,  they  are  not  entitled  to  dispute 
his  claims  to  supremacy.  The  palm  for  correctness,  therefore, 
remains  with  Pope.  Faultless  he  "certainly  was  not ;  but,  with 
die  exception  of  his  Pastorals,  there  is  scarcely  one  of  his  poems 
^  is  not  eminently  readable.  The  outlines  of  his  characters 
^  as  firm,  their  colours  as  fast  and  brilliant,  his  wit  as  irre- 
iittible,  his  judgment  as  sound,  and  his  language  as  idiomatic, 
tt  when  these  excellencies  first  delighted  Swift  and  Atterbury. 

Measured  by  this  unfailing  test  of  enduring  popularity,  none 
f  the  more  modem  English  poets  can  compete  with  Pope  in  his 
Peculiar  excellence.  Pope  has  been  dead  nearly  sixty  years 
t^Qger  than  Cowper,  eighty  years  longer  than  Shelley,  one 
iimdred  years  longer  than  Wordsworth.  All  three  of  these 
^oets  express  in  adequate  language,  thoughts  and  feelings  with 
^hich  the  cultivated  readers  of  our  times  are  still  familiar. 
I^et  their  poems  are  beyond  all  doubt  less  widely  read,  less 
^itually  quoted,  less  ably  edited,  than  those  of  Pop^*  '^^^ 
reason  lies  on  the  surface.  Compositions  like  the  '  Task,'  the 
Excursion,'  or  the  ^  Revolt  of  Islam,'  appeal  to  classes  of  men  ; 
mt  the  'Essay  on  Man'  appeals  to  all  men.  'The  Essay 
o  Man,'  says  Johnson,  '  is  clearly  the  work  of  a  poet.'  On 
be  other  hand,  the  '  Task  '  is  clearly  the  work  of  a  theologian  ; 
be  *  Excursion,'  of  a  philosopher  ;  the  '  Revolt  of  Islam,'  of  an 
ithnsiast.      Theologians,   philosophers,  and   enthusiasts,  will 

doubtless 


358  Mr.  Elwm*  Pope. 

doubtless  prefer  these  poems  to  the  ^  Essay  on  Man/  bat  tfaa 
it  is  easy  to  conceive  that  the  special  systems  of  opinion  whic! 
they  represent  may  lose  their  vitality ;  whereas  it  is  extremely 
improbable  that  the  questions  raised  in  the  '  Essay  on  Man 
will  ever  cease  to  interest  mankind,  or  ^whatever  may  b 
thought  of  the  philosophy  of  the  poem)  will  be  presented  in  i 
metrical  form,  better  adapted  to  excite  curiosity  and  pleasure. 

Of  all  modem  poets,  the  only  one  who  can  compare  witi 
Pope  in  his  power  of  satisfying  the  *  common-sense '  of  imagi 
nation  is  Byron.  Nor  can  we  forget  that,  while  yielding  to  di< 
temper  of  the  times,  Byron  stood  alone  among  his  contem 
poraries  in  asserting  the  unsubstantial  principles  of  the  nev 
school  of  poetry,  and  the  superior  vitality  of  the  classica 
tradition  represented  by  Pope.  Had  he  lived  to  witness  thi 
extravagances  for  which  the  modem  Muse  is  responsible,  wi 
think  he  would  hardly  have  altered  his  opinion:  while  k 
would  have  seen  much  to  justify  his  foresight  in  the  reacdoi 
that  has  set  in  against  the  prevailing  license,  and  in  the  dis 
position  of  the  public  to  reconsider  its  judgment  on  Pope*: 
merits  as  a  poet. 

Two  qualities  of  Pope's  genius  are  particularly  deserving  o 
recognition  at  the  present  day.  In  the  first  place,  he  is  eminentlj 
a  poet  of  Nature.  Nature,  we  are  frequently  told,  has  failed  m 
And,  indeed,  there  is  no  disputing  that  the  source  of  inspiration 
springing  from  the  French  Revolution,  on  which  our  poets  har< 
been  depending  from  the  beginning  of  the  present  centuiy,  1ib> 
run  dry.  Improving  on  the  dogma  of  Macaulay,  the  disciples  o 
the  picturesquely-melancholy  school  tell  us  that  we  live  in  ai 
'empty  day  ;  that  all  the  materials  of  imagination  are  nse< 
up ;  that,  in  short,  poetry  has  said  its  last  word.  What  thei 
do  they  think  about  the  poetry  of  Pope  ?  Do  they  say  witI 
Warton,  that  it  is  not  *  genuine  poetry  at  all  ?  The  conunoO' 
sense  of  the  world  gives  a  different  judgment.  Pope  lived  in 
an  age  as  critical,  as  artificial,  as  conventional  as  our  own,  jety 
as  we  have  seen,  he  found  in  it  materials  for  metrical  com* 
position  of  the  most  varied  kind.  His  poetry  is  not  wildly 
imaginative,  sublime,  or  pathetic  ;  his  judgment  is  as  strong 
as  his  imagination ;  much  that  he  says  might  have  been  witb 
propriety  expressed  in  prose;  his  justification  and  honour  i» 
that  it  could  not  have  been  expressed  in  prose  so  well  as  he 
has  expressed  it  in  verse.  Is  Nature  in  the  England  of  to-day, 
with  its  historic  past,  its  imperial  present,  with  sll  the  lights  and 
shades  of  its  varied  society,  less  propitious  to  the  modem  poet 
than  she  was  to  Pope  ?  If  so,  it  is  the  poet's  fault.  The  sphere 
of  imagination  must,  doubtless,  contract,  and  its  objects  vary 

with 


Mr.  Elwin'5  Pope.  359 

with  sacoessive  phases  of  society  ;  but  the  true  poet  will  avail 
Umself  of  the  materials  which  Nature,  in  whatever  shape, 
afibids ;  it  is  only  the  mediocre  poet  who  excuses  his  poverty 
bj  attributing  it  to  the  exhaustion  of  Nature ;  when  all  that  is 
really  exhausted  is  his  own  method  of  regarding  her. 

In  the  second  place.  Pope's  is  the  poetry  of  good  sense.  The 
belief  that  genius  and  common  sense  are  incompatible  is  an 
error  never  more  widely  propagated  than  in  our  day. 

*  Ingenium  misersl  quia  fortunatius  arte 
Credit  et  exclndit  sanos  Helicone  poetas, 
Demoeritos,  bona  pars  non  ungues  ponere  curat, 
Non  borbam,  secreta  petit  loca,  balnea  vitat.' 

Pope  is  said  to  be  a  conventional  poet ;  and  so  he  is  ;  but  so  are 
all  great  poets.  Taste  is  founded  on  Nature  interpreted  by  conven- 
tioix.   Sublimity,  pathos,  grace,  humour,  are  conventional  phrases, 
symbolical  of  those  common  perceptions  which  we  all  of  us  derive 
from  the  unity  of  nature.     limguage,  the  outward  sign  by  which 
we  oonmiunicate  our  thoughts  and  feelings,  is  nothing  but  conven- 
tion.    No  single  man  made  the  words  he  uses,  any  more  than 
be  made  the  family,  the  law,  the  religion,  and  the  history  which 
have  stamped  those  words  with  their  current  meaning.     A  lan- 
giiage  belongs  to  a  nation,  and  the  poets  who  use  the  language 
should  belong  to  the  nation  too.     It  is  the  fatal  error  of  the 
modem  poet  to   employ   language    as   if   it  were   something 
peculiar  to  himself,  and  to  survey  his  nation  as  i^e  himself 
were  somebody  outside  it.     We  have  had  within  the  last  forty 
years    philosophical    schools  of   poetry,   picturesque    schools, 
9^smodic  schools,  but  no  English  school.     Pope's  school  was 
l^Qglish  in  the  sense  that  Shakespeare's  was  English :  that  is, 
be  Was  the  poetical  representative  of  all  who  in  his  own  age  used 
^  English  tongue.     Poetry  in  his  mind  resembled  his  own 
definition  of  wit : — 

*  Nature  to  advantage  dressed ; 
What  oft  was  thought,  but  ne'er  so  well  expressed.' 

To  select  those  objects  which  floated  vaguely  and  in  embryo 
before  the  public  imagination  ;  to  piece  them  in  a  proportioned 
whole,  to  the  main  design  of  which  all  the  parts  contributed  ; 
and  not  to  be  satisfied  till  he  had  secured  the  exact  word 
required  for  the  expression  of  a  thought,  or  the  melody  of  a 
caaence,  this  was  the  task  he  proposed  to  himself  in  his  ideal 
of  correctness.  An  enduring  reputation,  not  far  short  of  two 
hundred  years,  is  the  evidence  of  his  success.     His  monument 

may 


360  Mr.  Elwm'5  Pope. 

may   be  inscribed  with   the  words  of  his  favourite  Spenser; 
words  that  are  the  monument  of  all  genuine  poets  : — 

*  For  deeds  do  die,  however  noblj  done, 
And  thonghts  of  men  do  as  themselves  decay ; 
But  wise  words,  taught  in  number  for  to  run, 
Becorded  by  the  muses,  live  for  ay ; 
Ne  may  witib  stormy  showers  be  washed  away ; 
Nor  bitter  breathing  winds,  with  harmful  blast, 
Nor  Age,  nor  Envy,  may  them  ever  waste.' 

One  last  word  with  reference  to  Mr.  Elwin's  labours.  Our 
object  throughout  this  article  has  been  to  present  the  reader 
with  a  general  estimate  of  Pope's  merits  as  a  poet,  and  the 
space  at  our  disposal  has  not  allowed  us  to  consider  his  editoi't 
detailed  criticisms  on  each  poem  with  all  the  attention  to  which 
they  are  entitled.  Often  as  we  find  ourselves  in  disagreement 
with  Mr.  Elwin  in  his  judgments,  it  is  a  pleasure  to  us  to  avow 
our  conviction,  that  there  is  scarcely  an  Englishman  now  living 
so  well  qualified  to  edit  the  works  of  his  illustrious  author. 
Sound  scholarship  ;  accurate  learning  ;  unwearied  assiduity  in 
research,  are  qualities  which  are  growing  old-fashioned  ;  with- 
out these  an  edition  of  Pope  would  be  worthless ;  it  is  by  the 
exercise  of  these  that  Mr.  Elwin  has  compiled  a  monunaental 
work,  which,  for  patience  and  thoroughness,  must  elicit  the 
praise  of  every  lover  of  literature.  The  edition  is  still  incom- 
plete, and  we  wait  with  particular  expectation  the  notes  on  the 
^  Dunciad '  and  the  ^  Satires,'  which  are  sure  in  Mr.  Elwin'i 
hands  to  prove  a  mine  of  historical  and  biographical  interest 

We  have   already   quoted   Mr.  Elwin's   own   record   of  hi» 
labours  in  the  collection  of  Pope's  correspondence.      Of  the 
manner  in  which  he  has  performed  this  part  of  his  task  it  i* 
impossible  to  speak  too  highly.     He  has  arranged  for  us,  ma*^ 
completely  than  has  ever  been  done  before,  a  gallery  of  tk** 
self-painted   portraits   of   the   most   illustrious   actors  in   tb-^ 
famous  age,  which  of  all  the  periods  in  our  annals  excites  tV^ 
liveliest  personal  interest.   The  whole  correspondence  presents 
wonderful  spectacle  of  human  nature.    It  is  full  of  old-fashion^^ 
idioms ;  incidental  traits  of  life  and  manners ;  glimpses  of  h 
veiled  character;   frank    avowals   at   one  moment  of  fi 
which   most   men  are  anxious   to  conceal;  and   studious  coi 
cealment,    at   another   moment,  of  the    same   feelings,  und^^ 
colour  of  motives  which  all  are  ready  to  avow.     There  is  m^ 
irresistible  fascination  in  the  picture,  but  our  space  forbids  i^^ 
to  dwell  upon  it.     For  the  present  we  must  part  company  wiC^^ 

ArbuthntF'^ 


Political  Biographies.  361 

Arbathnot,  Swift,  Orrery,  Bathurst,  Bolingbroke,  and  Martha 
Blount,  to  whom,  however,  as  the  friends  of  Pope  and  the 
representatives  of  a  most  attractive  period  of  English  social  life, 
we  shall  hope  to  return  on  a  future  occasion. 


Art.  II. — The  Life  of  Henry  John  Temple^  Viscount  Palmerston^ 
1846-1865.  By  the  Hon.  Evelyn  Ashley,  M.P.  2  Vols. 
I^ndon,  1876. 

HORACE  thought  that  certain  poems  would  be  all  the  better 
for  being  withheld  from  the  public  for  nine  years,  and 
Talleyrand  extended  the  period  of  literary  reserve  for  political 
Memoirs  ^to  at  least  two  generations.     There  was  much  good 
tense  in  both  suggestions.     Obviously  they  were  aimed  neither 
at  true  poets,  nor  at  wise  biographers.     A  good  poem  is  good 
from  the  first ;  so  is  a  good  biography.     For  as  genius,  which 
in  its  mood  of  inspiration  puts  pregnant  thought  or  true  emotion 
into  perfect  words,  goes  to  the  one,  so  does  that  sound  judg- 
inent,  which  knows  not  only  what  to  say,  but  also — more  im- 
portant still — ^what  not  to   say,  go   to   the   other.     Could  we 
'Appose  a  happy  land,  in  which  the  canons  of  these  two  excel- 
*^t  judges  were  enforced,  how  many  books,  that  are  in  truth  no 
"Oolcs,  would  never  see  the  light ! 

Adopt  Horace's  rule,  and  it  is  at  least  possible  that  the  poems 

^f  imateors  of  the  Piso  stamp,  at  the  end  of  the  prescribed 

^^riod,  might  have  lost  even  for  their  authors  much  of  their 

^wnation.     Misgiving  might  have  taken  the  place  of  those 

*^ptures  'of  self-gratulation  which   only  poetasters   feel.      The 

^orld  might  be   made  richer  by  one  book  the  less,  and   the 

^t^thor's  friends — and  where  is  the  fortunate  man  who  cannot 

^I^preciate  this  boon  ? — be  spared  the  inward  shame  of  feigning 

^^miration,  where  they  feel  only  pity  or  regret. 

Again,  apply  the  aphorism  of  Talleyrand,  and  see  how 
^^imirably  it  would  work.  After  fifty  years  how  very  unim- 
jHiWant  many  matters  will  appear,  which  once  seemed  of  por- 
r^^tous  moment ;  how  many  names  be  all  but  forgotten,  which 
?^^  their  day  were  in  every  man's  mouth;  how  many,  whose 
^^^uenoe  was  noiseless  but  penetrating,  have  risen  into  well- 
^^scnred  prominence  I  Time,  the  great  winnower,  will  have 
^l^ared  away  the  chaff.  The  forces  which  governed  events  will 
*^^ve*made  themselves  clearly  felt,  and  we  shall  be  able  to  see 
^ll  the  salient  features  of  a  period  now  become  historical  in 
^V^eir  true  perspective.     Above  all,  by  that  time  the  whole  truth 


TTIAV 


362  Political  Biographies. 

may  be  told.     The  frailties,  the  follies,  the  intrigues  of  states- 
men and  of  kings  may  be  dirulged  without  wounding  sensi- 
bilities  or   endangering   political   relations.     The   figments  of 
journalism,  and  the  idle  and  often  malignant  gossip  of  social 
and  political  busy-bodies,  can  then  be  blown  to  the  winds  by  the 
revelation   of  authentic  documents,  and  the   contemporaneous 
testimony  of  the  chief  actors  in  the  great  movements  of  European 
progress.     Disclosures  heretofore  withheld  from  motives  of  self- 
respect,  or  forbearance  to  others,  may  then  with  propriety  be 
made,  which  will  place  the  characters  of  public  men  and  the 
course  of  public  events  in  their  true  light.     The  time  will  have 
come  to  demonstrate  by  such  disclosures  how  true  was  the  saying 
of  M.  Van  de  Weyer,  kindliest  and  wisest  of  scholars  and 
diplomatists,  that '  en   fait  de  I'histoire  contemporaine,  le  seal 
vrai  est  ce  ou'on  n'ecrit  pas.'     Memoirs  of  the  type  we  have 
lately  had  will  then  shrink  to  their  true  proportions.     The  mis- 
representations of  ignorance,  or  passion,  or  malevolence,  will  be 
corrected  by  authentic  evidence ;  and  those  who  undertake  to 
tell  the  story  either  of  an  individual  or  of  an  epoch  will  know 
that  they  do  so,  with  the  certainty  that,  unless  they  take  pains 
to  make  themselves  masters  of  the  facts  and  documents  upon 
which  history  must  ultimately  rest — still  more,  if  they  wilfully 
conceal  or  misrepresent  the  materials  open  to  their  use— detecti<Mi 
and  retribution  are  sure  to  be  both  swift  and  sweeping.    Curionty, 
especially  in   an  age  like  ours,  when,  rather  than  not  be  fed 
at  all,  it  is  so  constantly  content,  even  in  grave  matters  of  state, 
to  be  fed  and  stimulated  by  fiction,  may  resent  being  told  that 
it  can  scarcely  expect  to  learn  the  true  story  of  its  own  times. 
But  the  sooner  it  reconciles  itself  to  the  fact,  the  better ;  and  m 
doing  so,  it  may  assimilate  the  further  useful  lesson,  not  to  pat 
its  faith  too  largely  in  the  '  own  correspondents,'  or  omniscient 
writers  of  enterprising  journals,  but  to  believe  that  there  are 
important  factors  in    international  policy,   of  which  only  the 
statesmen  are  cognizant,  to  whose  charge  the  national  interests 
are  for  the  time  entrusted. 

The  book  before  us  is  lust  one  of  those  which  would  have 
profited  by  the  application  of  the  Talleyrand  rule.  1*  *^ 
author  had  put  it  aside  for  even  one  generation,  we  venture  to 
think,  it  would  scarcely  have  seen  the  light  in  its  present  shape 
at  the  end  of  that  period.  Much  would  have  been  omitted,  9m 
probably  not  a  little  added.  Rash  assertions  and  unjustifiable 
innuendoes  would  have  disappeared,  and  some  attempt  wouW 
have  been  made  at  a  truer  estimate  of  Lord  Palmerston  and  hi* 
contemporaries.  It  is  no  disparagement  to  Mr.  Ashley  to  say 
that  Lord  Palmerston's  reputation  would  have  stood  higher  than 


Political  Biographies.  363 

it  is  now  likely  to  do,  had  Lord  Dalling  lived  to  work  up  the 
materials  which  were  at  Mr.  Ashley's  disposal,  and  to  complete 
the  biography  which  he  had  so  well  begun.  His  literary  skill, 
DO  less  than  his  political  experience,  must  have  produced  a  work 
of  permanent  value,  as  a  narrative  of  important  events,  and  as 
the  record  of  a  very  remarkable  man.  Although  bound  to  Lord 
Palmerston  by  the  ties  of  personal  gratitude  and  regard,  he  was 
by  no  means  blind  to  his  defects.  Lord  Dalling,  too,  had  been 
behind  the  curtain,  nay,  he  had  been  ^  a  busy  actor '  in  important 
scenes  of  the  great  European  drama  of  his  time.  He  carried 
irithin  him  much  of  that  unwritten  knowledge  which  is  essential 
Tor  the  writer  of  contemporary  political  history.  He  knew  what 
U>pics  might  or  might  not  be  approached  without  either  damage 
to  Lord  Palmerston  or  injustice  to  those  who  had  had  to  work 
with  him.  He  had,  moreover,  the  sense  of  fairness,  instinctive 
in  our  leading  public  men,  and  only  clouded  occasionally  in  the 
beat  of  debate  or  keen  party  strife,  which  puts  the  whole  facts  of 
at  case  frankly  and  candidly  forward,  and  scorns  to  snatch  a 
luccess  either  by  concealment  or  distortion. 

These  are  the  qualities  which  are  eminently  requisite  for  one 
irho  has  to  deal  with  events  still  recent,  and  with  men  whose 
pens  and  tongues  are  either  fettered  by  official  reticence,  or  who, 
being  dead,  may  have  no  ^  honest  chronicler '  to  take  up  their 
lefence.  Lord  Dalling,  at  least,  knew  too  well  what  was  due  to 
those  who  have  done  their  best  to  serve  their  country  as  diplo- 
matists or  statesmen,  to  have  given  publicity,  as  Mr.  Ashley  has 
done,  to  documents  which  impugn  their  sagacity  or  statesman- 
ship, without  at  the  same  time  letting  the  world  know  what 
they  had  to  say  for  themselves,  and  had  said  at  the  time,  in 
amswcr  to  these  documents. 

It  is  difficult  to  imagine  any  species  of  revelation  more  to  be 
leprecated  than  a  one-sided  publication,  such  as  we  frequently 
find  in  these  volumes,  of  those  communications,  not  meant  for 
the  public  eye,  which  are  constantly  passing  between  Ministers 
It  home,  or  between  Ministers  and  our  Ambassadors  at  foreign 
Courts.  Such  a  proceeding  involves  great  injustice  to  indi- 
viduals, and  perverts  the  sources  of  history.  The  despatches 
printed  for  Parliament,  as  all  who  are  in  the  secrets  of  offi- 
cial life  know,  often  throw  much  less  light  on  the  matters 
nrith  which  they  deal  than  the  communications  of  the  class  to 
frhich  we  have  referred ;  but  the  occasions  are  rare  indeed  in 
pirhich  these  have  been  given  to  the  public.  The  famous  cor- 
respondence of  Sir  Hamilton  Seymour  with  the  Foreign  Office 
in  1853,  reporting  his  personal  communications  with  the  Em- 
peror Nicholas  on  the  subject  of  Turkey,  is  an  illustration  of 

what 


364  Political  Biographies. 

what  we  mean.     But  even  this  correspondence  might  probably 
not  have  seen  the  light  in  1854,  had  our  Government  not  been 
absolved  from  the  established  rule  of  silence  as  to  such  com- 
munications  by   a   public   reference   in   the   Russian   Official 
Journal   to  what  had  passed   at  the   interviews   between   the 
Emperor  and  our  Ambassador.     This  was  so  obviously  pub- 
lished with  the  Imperial  sanction,  that  it  was  regarded  as  tauita- 
mount  to  a  challenge  to  produce  the  correspondence,  and  made 
further  reticence  on  the  part  of  the  Aberdeen  Government  im- 
possible.    The  free  and  cordial  interchange  of  opinion  between 
our  representatives  and  the  Foreign  Powers  to  whom  they  were 
accredited,  it  is  obvious,  could  never  be  maintained  if  there  did 
not  exist  a  tacit  understanding  that  the  ideas  exchanged  at  their 
confidential  interviews  are  not  to  be  trumpeted  on  the  house- 
tops, but  are  only  to  reach  the  responsible  members  of  our  own 
Government     Just  so  would  it  in  like  manner  be  fatal  to  the 
cordial  co-operation  of  the  members  of  a  Cabinet,  or  to  the 
independence  of  our  Ambassadors,  were  they  not  to  feel  assured 
that  the  sanctity  of  their  private  correspondence  on  the  political 
movements  of  the  day  was  to  be  respected.     Where  events  o£ 
historical  importance  are  concerned,  there  will  no  doubt  alway* 
come  a  time  when  this  wise  restraint  may  be  cast  aside,  not  oni^ 
with  propriety,  but  in  the  essential  interests  of  truth.      Bm:3X 
that  time  will,  as  a  rule,  not  come  until  those  have  passed  aw^^J 
who  would  be  needlessly  wounded  by  premature   disclosnr^^^ 
and,  when  it  does  come,  the  disclosures  should  at  all  events 
candid  and  complete,  and  furnish  the  means  of  a  condusi^ 
judgment  as  to  the  motives  and  conduct  of  the  persons  who 
they  affect. 

It  will  be  an  evil  day  for  England  if  either  public  men  ^  ^^ 
their  biographers  should  cease  to  consider  themselves  bound  b — ^J 
the  principle  we  have  indicated.  In  these  days  of  books  g**^  ^  \ 
up  in  haste  to  gratify  a  morbid  appetite  for  the  merely  person^  -^** 
incidents  of  political  life,  it  seems  to  us  not  out  of  place  w  Y^ 
recal  attention  to  this  principle ;  and  we  have  placed  MH^^^' 
Ashley's  volume  at  the  head  of  this  paper  because  it  has  violatc^^^^r 
the  principle  in  several  flagrant  instances,  with  some  of  whicn:^^— ^ 
we  are  enabled  by  circumstances  to  deal,  in  illustration  of  whtJS'  ^ 
we  have  said. 

Mr.  Ashley  informs  us  (vol.  i.  p.  292)  that  in  fostering 
French  alliance  with  England  in  1851,  'one  of  Lord  Palmi 
ston's  chief  difficulties  was   the  ill-disguised   hostility  of 
British  Ambassador  to  the  French  President.'    The  Ambassad<^=:^'' 
in  question  was  Lord  Normanby ;  but  if  his  Despatches,  publi--  ^ 
and  private,  shall  ever  be  given  to  the  world,  it  will  be  sec  ^  * 

ho* 


Political  Biographies.  365 

liow  little  this  assertion  can  be  justified  by  their  tenor.     Up  to 
the  period  of  the  Coup  iEtai^  at  least,  no  man  was  more  zealous 
in  upholding  the  policy  of  the  Prince  President.     He  spoke  of 
that  event,  and  of  the  incidents  of  bloodshed  and  cruelty  which 
accompanied  it,  in  terms  worthy  of  an  Englishman,  but  which 
appear  to  have  been  very  unpalatable  to  Lord  Palmerston,  bent 
as  he  was  on  upholding  the  embryo  Emperor  alike  through  good 
report  and  eviL    People,  we  imagine,  are  by  this  time  rather  tired 
of  hearing  of  the  painful  results  to  which  this  resolution  of  Lord 
Palmerston's  led.     Whether  Lord  John  Russell  was  justified  or 
not  in  severing  his  connection  with  a  Foreign  Secretary  who 
was  obstinately  bent  upon  going  his  own  way,  without  regard 
to  the  opinions  either  of  the  chief  of  the  Cabinet  or  of  its  con* 
stituent  members,  is  one  of  those  side-issues  with  which  future 
historians  will  make  very  short  work,  if,  indeed,  they  will  deal 
^th  it  at  all.     The  grievous  mortification  inflicted  on  Lord 
Palmerston  was,  no  doubt,  the  teterrima  causa  of  many  a  future 
cabal  and  struggle,  for  which  the  country  was  not  the  better. 
That  he  should  feel  it  deeply,  and  resent  it  as  he  best  might, 
was  natural.     But  a  biographer  might  fairly  be  expected  to  look 
more  dispassionately  at  the  incidents  of  December,  1851.     This 
much  was  clear,  even  before  the  explanations  given,  since  the 
publication  of  these  volumes,  in  Mr.  Theodore  Martin's  ^  Life  of 
the  Prince  Consort,'  that  Lord  Palmerston  had  acted  in  defiance  of 
the  line  of  policy  prescribed  by  a  solemn  decision  of  the  Cabinet. 
It  was  scarcely  judicious,  therefore,  in  Mr.  Ashley  to  show  that 
he  had  chosen  this  moment  to  rate  our  Ambassador  at  Paris 
in  language,  not  often,  we  should  hope,  addressed  by  Foreign 
Secretaries  to  Ambassadors,  for  honestly  reporting  what  he  had 
seen  and  heard  of  the  outrages  which  had  signalised  the  Coup 
^j£tat.     We  take  the  letter  in  which  he  did  so,  as  we  find  it  at 
page  292  of  Mr.  Ashley's  first  volume. 

•  C.  a,  6th  December.  1851. 

*  Mt  dbab  Nobuanbt, — In  times  of  crisis  and  on  affitirs  of  deep 

importance,  £rankness  between  persons    officially  acting  together 

becomes  a  duty,  and  I  feel  compelled  therefore  to  say  tluit  the  tone 

and  substance  of  your  despatches  create  serious  apprehensions  in  my 

mind.    Events  are  passing  at  Paris  which  must  have  a  most  important 

influence  upon  the  affidrs  of  Europe  generally,  and  upon  the  interests 

of  this  country  in  particular,  and  the  character  of  our  relations  with  the 

French  Government  may  be  much  influenced  by  the  course  pursued 

during  the  present  crisis  by  the  British  representative  at  Paris.     The 

great  probability  still  seems  to  be,  as  it  has,  I  think,  all  along  been, 

that  in  the  conflict  of  opposing  purties  Louis  Napoleon  would  remain 

master  of  the  field,  and  it  would  very  much  wei^en  our  position  at 

Paris  and  be  detrimental  to  British  interests  if  Louis  Napoleon,  when 

ha 


366  Political  Biographies.  ' 

lie  had  achieyed  a  trinmpli,  Bhonld  liave  reason  to  think  that  dnimff 
the  struggle  the  British  representatiye  took  part  (I  mean  by  a  maoi- 
festation  of  opinion)  with  his  opponents.  Now  we  are  entitled  to 
judge  of  that  matter  only  by  your  despatches,  and  I  am  sure  yon  will 
forgive  me  for  making  some  observations  on  those  which  we  havd 
received  this  week.  Tour  long  despatch  of  Monday  appeared  to  be  a 
funeral  oration  over  the  President,  with  a  passage  thrown  in  as  to  his 
intentions  to  strike  a  eaap  d!Hat  on  a  favourable  opportunity,  as  if  it 
were  meant  to  justify  the  doom  which  was  about  to  be  prononnoed 
upon  him  by  the  Burgrave  majority.  Your  despatches  since  die 
event  of  Tuesday  have  been  all  hostile  to  Louis  Napoleon,  with  veiy 
little  information  as  to  events.  One  of  them  consisted  chiefly  of  a 
dissertation  about  Kossuth,  which  would  have  made  a  good  artiok  in 
the  '  Times '  a  fortnight  ago ;  and  another  dwells  <miefly  npon  a 
looking-glass  broken  in  a  club-house,  and  a  piece  of  plaster  brou^t 
down  from  a  ceiling  by  musket-shots  during  the  street  fights. 

'  Now  we  know  that  the  diplomatic  agents  of  Austria  and  RnsBii 
called  upon  the  President  immediately  after  his  measures  of  Tneadsy 
morning,  and  have  been  profuse  in  their  expressions  of  approval  of  his 
conduct ;  of  course  what  they  admire  and  applaud  is  the  shutting  ts^ 
of  a  Parliament  House  by  military  force,  and  probably  when  LomB 
Napoleon  publishes  his  new  Constitution,  with  an  elective  popolar 
Assembly  and  senate,  &c.,  they  may  not  think  the  conclusion  as  good 
as  the  beginning,  but  still  they  are  making  great  advances  to  hxm; 
and  though  we  should  not  widi  you  to  go  out  of  your  way  to  oonrft 
him,  nor  to  identify  us  with  his  measures,  it  would  be  very  unde- 
sirable that  he  should  have  any  grounds  for  supposing  your  sympathieg 
identified  with  the  schemes  which  were  planned  for  his  overthrow, 
and  of  the  existence  of  which  I  apprehend  no  reasonable  doubt  can  be 
entertained,  though  you  have  not  particularly  mentioned  them  of  Isie. 

'  The  greater  part  of  the  Frendi  refugees  are  gone  back  from  henoe 
to  France.  Ledru-Bollin,  Caussidi^re,  and  Louis  Blanc,  remain  here 
for  the  present. — ^Yours  sincerely, 

^  Palmxbstoh.' 

No  one  can  read  this  letter  without  feeling  that  it  ought  never 
to  have  seen  the  light,  except  with  the  consent  of  Lord  Nor- 
manby  or  his  representatives.  Of  course  such  a  document  could 
not  remain  unanswered,  and  the  least  that  Mr.  Ashley  should 
have  done  in  common  fairness  to  Lord  Normanby,  if  he  chose 
to  give  publicity  to  an  attack  of  a  character  so  serious,  coming 
from  the  quarter  it  did,  was  to  have  shown  how  it  was  met 
He  has  not  done  so  ;  and  our  readers  shall  judge  by  Lo^ 
Normanbj's  reply,  which  we  are  enabled  to  produce,  whether 
it  does  not  place  him  in  a  very  different  light  from  that  thrown 
upon  his  conduct  by  the  language  of  Lord  Palmerston. 

'  Paris,  7th  Deoember,  1851. 
<  My  deab  Palmebston, — I  have  received  with  perfect  astonishment 
your  yesterday's  letter.    It  is  so  different  both  in  its  tone  toward 

DjeeK 


Political  Biographies*  367 

myself  as  well  as  in  the  tenor  of  its  opinions  from  all  I  have  before 
had  from  yon,  that  I  cannot  comprehend  its  meaning. 

^  I  shall  endeayonr  to  answer  it  with  the  calmness  which  becomes 
its  probable  effect  npon  our  relation  with  each  other,  as  well  as  the  all- 
absorbing  importance  of  the  eyents  in  which  we  are  at  present  together 
engagsd* 

*  ThB  question  between  ns  seems  to  be  twofold ;  first,  whether  what 
is  passing  here  is  worthy  of  approbation,  and  in  the  next  place  the 
extent  to  which  that  approbation,  if  not  felt,  should  be  feigned  or  dis- 
approbation snppressed. 

^  As  to  the  last,  I  beUeye  we  are  both  agreed,  that  for  the  mainte- 
nance of  the  good  relations  between  the  two  countries,  care  should  be 
taken  that  no  disapprobation  should  be  incautiously  expressed* 
Before  I  conclude  this  letter,  I  will  proye  to  you  that  this  condition 
I  haye  fulfilled.  To  feign  approbation  which  one  does  not  feel,  is  of 
course  impossible  to  the  feelings  of  a  gentleman.  Then  the  question 
remains,  to  which  I  should  like  an  answer,  "  Do  you  really  approye 
idiat  has  taken  place  ?  "  which  is  simply  this,  that  a  man  would  de- 
liberately yiolate  the  Parliamentary  lib^*ties  of  his  country  and  break 
the  law  which  he  alone  is  bound  to  maintain,  ^Moi  ieuiement  liS 
par  man  serment ; "  this  without  any  obvious  necessity ;  on  the  con- 
tiary,  weakening  thereby  the  forces  of  order  in  their  struggle  with 
anarchy.  Can  it  be  possible  that  Walewski  is  right,  and  l^t  you 
haye  giyen  to  this  step  your  cordial  approbation  ? 

^  I  belieye,  if  any  one  in  Europe  was  asked  which  of  us  two  was 
most  likely  to  wish  the  destruction  of  the  Beyolutionary  Mania  at 
almost  any  price,  they  would  rather  mppoae  it  would  be  me,  who 
haye  had  for  the  last  four  years  such  constant  experience  of  the 
dangers  of  democracy ;  and  yet  your  quarrel  with  me  seems  to  be,  that 
I  did  not  run  a  race  of  approval  with  Hiibner  and  with  Eisselefi^* 
this,  even  now,  after  you  haye  seen  all  the  tyranny  to  which  it  has 
necessarily  led.  You  flatter  yourself  they  will  be  disappointed  when 
he  establishes  what  you  called  his  Popular  Electiye  Assembly.  Tou 
neyer  allude  to  his  own  description  of  the  objects  of  that  Assembly, 
though  I  have  twice  called  your  attention  to  the  contents  of  his 
manifesto ;  but,  if  you  will  not  read  his  pamphlet,  you  nmst  surely 
know  the  Oonstitution  of  the  year  YIU.,  and  remember  its  history. 
He  may,  of  course,  change  all  tiiis  plan,  but  Htibner  and  Eisseleff  are 
even  now  belieying  what  he  says. 

*  Now  I  come  to  my  own  conduct.  You  will  recollect  that  you  are 
accusing  me  of  endangering  diplomatic  relations  by  imprudence  of 
language — ^you,  who;  ought  to  recollect  that  I  have  for  the  four  last 
years  contrived  to  keep  on  terms  of  which  no  one  has  had  to  com- 
plain with  every  successive  variety  of  Government ;  and  that  up  to 
Monday  night  last  I  continued  on  such  terms  of  confidence  with  the 
President,  that  he  gaye  me  personally  his  pamphlet.  You  say  that 
you  have  only  a  right  to  judge  me  by  my  Despatches.    I  desire,  too, 

*  The  Austrian  and  Bussian  Ambassadors  at  Paris. 

if 


368  Political  Biographies. 

if  the  necessity  should  ever  arise,  only  to  be  judged  by  them ;  but  the 
Bill  of  Indictment,  which  you  have  attempted  to  found  upon  thiSp  so 
completely  fails,  that  I  cannot  help  recollecting  that  you  haTe  nid 
once  or  twice  latterly,  "  we  hear,"  and  '*  they  say ;"  and  it  is,  I  im 
afraid,  evident  you  have  imbibed  this  prejudice  from  listening  toxneie 
hearsay  and  gossip,  which  I  had  a  right  to  expect  you  would  ^ 
regard.  I  haye  read  oyer  again  my  Despatch  of  Monday,  and  there  is 
not  a  word  in  it  which  would  justify,  eyen  in  Parliamentary  waififfe^ 
the  interpretation  you  haye  put  upon  it.  It  had  nothing  whatever  of 
a  funeral  oration.  It  was  a  rimim^  of  eyents,  such  as  I  have  oftoi 
giyen  you  before,  when  it  has  been  very  differently  reoeiyed.  Th» 
President's  time  expires  in  Mav  next ;  hiis  chance  of  legyJ  ie<deo&u 
I  thought  much  damaged.  The  success  of  a  coup  S6tai  is  alwiy* 
doubtful ;  and  because  I  speculated  upon  the  possibility  of  there  bemg 
hereafter  another  ruler  in  France,  you  say  I  pronounce  ^  his  doom. 
If  there  was  any  conspiracy,  I  haye  never  heard  of  it;  I  am  sine  it 
would  have  been  best  for  him  to  let  it  break  out,  as  it  would  have 
been  sure  to  fail,  as  we  saw  by  the  attempt  at  the  Joinyille  oandiditare* 

'  The  only  one  phrase  which  you  have  been  able  to  extract  from  lU 
these  Despatches,  written  daily,  and  of  course  amidst  much  aniiefy, 
is  upon  a  point  which  I  regret  to  see  you  treat  with  a  levity  thtt  I 
cannot  share.  The  subject  is  the  wanton  and  unnecessary  sacoifioe  of 
human  life  in  the  late  contest ;  and  you  are  merry  about  a  brokoi 
looking-glass,  forgetting  that  a  human  head,  and  that  of  an  En^irii- 
man,  was  within  a  few  inches  of  it.  This  was  given  as  an  instuee^ 
among  many,  that  there  was  not  sufGicient  care  taken  to  distingddi 
between  the  innocent  and  the  guilty.  My  humanity  is  not  local  in  iti 
character,  and  what  happens  at  Paris  I  judge  the  same  as  if  it  were  st 
Pesth  or  at  Naples. 

<  This  reminds  me,  that  you  say  I  made  a  tirade  against  Eosnth 
worthy  of  the  ''  Times."  I  made  no  tirade  at  all.  I  only  mentioned 
him  incidentally  to  show,  that  if  any  French  patriot  when  liberated 
(such  as  Cavaignac,  for  instance)  had  a  similar  reception  in  Englaod, 
it  would  lead  to  war.  You  might  have  recollected,  when  criticising 
my  Despatches,  that  there  is  not  one  of  them  in  which  I  have  not 
expressed,  in  the  strongest  terms,  my  belief  in  Louis  Napoloon's 
success,  and  my  unvarying  wish,  as  the  question  is  now  enffoged,  thit 
his  success  should  be  complete. 

'  Now  as  to  language  which  you  seem  to  suppose  I  have  held,  no 
one  can  know  better  than  you,  that  if  you  fear  people  are  likelj  to 
misrepresent  you,  you  had  better  not  see  them  at  iJL  I  have  foUoted 
this  plan.  Since  Tuesday  I  have  been  in  no  house  but  my  own,  hftve 
only  been  twice  out  on  foot,  happen  to  have  seen  no  Fr^chmen  bot 
FlaJiault,  and  just  this  moment  Drouyn  de  L'Huys.  I  have  reoeiTed 
singly,  in  the  course  of  the  morning,  all  my  colleagues  who  have  been 
in  the  habit  of  consulting  me,  all,  in  short,  except  HUbner,  KxanM 
and  Antonini ;  and  if,  however  good  friends  privately,  we  are  not  on 
that  political  footing,  it  is  not  my  fault. 

'  No  one  can  feel  more  strongly  than  I  do  that  thi^  is  not  a  tone 

unneooMuilf 


Political  Biographies,  369 

vmeceaBarily  to  prolong  a  oontroyersial  correspondenoe.  A  qnieter 
m(Hnent  will  oome  wlien  all  this  will  be  matter  of  very  serious  con- 
ffldention  for  me,  and  I  most  reserve  the  right,  in  case  of  necessity 
Iwreafler,  to  make  any  nse  I  like  of  this  letter ;  and  to  ask  yon  again, 
whether  yon  approve  the  President's  conduct,  approve  the  step  he  has 
taken,  and  the  policy  he  has  proclaimed  ? — Ever  yours, 

*  NOBMANBT.' 

The  remainder  of  this  correspondence — for  it  did  not  end 
Ime — is  before  us.  But  we  pass  from  it  to  more  interesting 
matter,  with  the  remark,  that,  whoever  may  suffer  by  its  publica- 
tion, it  will  not  be  Lord  Normanby. 

Mr.  Evelyn  Ashley  has  published  several  very  characteristic 
vad  important  letters  written  by  Lord  Palmerston  on  the  subject  of 
the  Eastern  Question  in  1853.  The  scope  of  his  own  remarks 
throogfaoat  points  to  his  belief  that  Lonl  Palmerston  alone,  of 
sH  oar  statesmen  at  the  time,  took  a  sound  view  of  that  question, 
vid  of  the  policy  which  England  ought  to  have  adopted.  It 
W  the  current  theory,  as  we  all  remember,  of  his  Lordship's 
^dmiiers  at  the  time,  that  if  his  views  had  been  acted  upon, 
^bere  would  have  been  no  war  with  Russia.  This  was  based  on 
^idea,  that  if  the  Emperor  of  Russia  had  early  been  told, 
{■loyv  PalmerstonianOy  that  if  he  advanced  upon  Turkish  territory, 
^  woold  not  be  the  Turks  alone,  but  the  English,  whom  he 
Would  have  to  encounter,  he  would  never  have  crossed  the  Pruth, 
%  having  crossed  it,  would  have  speedily  created  some  *  golden 
bridge '  by  which  he  might  have  retreated  with  decorum.  What 
ue  Emperor  might  or  might  not  have  done  in  such  a  case,  who, 
^  knows  the  measureless  obstinacy  and  pride  which  ulti- 
^''^ly  swept  him  on  to  disaster  and  death,  will  venture  to  sur- 
'"^P  A  man  less  passionate  and  self-willed  might  have  seen 
^^  early  in  1853,  that  the  English  Government  had  taken  up 
^  position  which  must  result  in  war  if  he  persisted  in  demands 
9Pon  Turkey,  which  they,  in  common  with  France,  Austria  and 
^^Qsiia,  had  declared  to  be  untenable.  Whether,  if  he  had  been 
^M  in  the  brusque  language  of  a  Palmerstonian  despatch,  that 
*«  must  face  this  contingency,  he  would  have  been  more  likely 
^  abate  the  extravagance  of  his  pretensions,  or  to  precipitate  the 
^w,  which  ultimately  ensued,  has  always  seemed  to  us  a  moot 

!)i^on.     At   every   successive   step    taken   by  England  and 


Sinope  was  not  that  of  a  man  likely 

*^  awed  into  pacific  measures  by  any  declarations,  however 
^lidt,  that  England  and  France  would  support  Turkey  in 
'^^ieeting  force  by  force. 

VoL  143.— A  286.  2  b  It 


370  Political  Biographies. 

It  was  vital  for  England  to  carry  along  with  her  the 
other  great  Powers  of  Europe  in  the  discussions  of  1853 
Eastern    Question.      Any    precipitate    action,    either    i 
handed  or  in  concert  with  France,  would  have  made  this  i 
sible.     At  the  very  time  the  disaster  at  Sinope  occurred,  i 

{'ust  succeeded  in  establishing  a  complete  accord  with 
^owers,  and  there  was  still  a  hope  that  their  united  dipl 
action  might  bring  Russia  to  reason.  Lord  Palmers 
appears  by  Mr.  Ashley's  book,  was  impatient  of  delay.  VI 
absolutely  declaring  war,  he  was  for  sending  our  fleet  in 
Black  Sea  to  shut  up  the  Russian  fleet  in  ConstantinopI 
keep  them  there  until  the  Russian  troops  should  evacoa 
Principalities.  Writing  to  Lord  Aberdeen  on  the  1 
December,  1853,  the  day  before  the  destruction  of  the  T 
fleet  at  Sinope  was  known  in  England,  and  not  afterwa 
Mr,  Ashley  seems  to  imply^  he  says  : — 

*It  seems  to  me  that,  unless  Turkey  shall  he  laid  pro6tr«t< 
feet  of  Bussia  by  disasters  and  war,  an  event  which  Engla 
France  could  not  without  dishonour  permit,  no  peace  can  1 
duded  between  the  contending  parties  unless  the  Emperor  com 
evacuate  the  Principalities,  to  abandon  his  demands,  and  to  ic 
some  of  the  embarrassing  stipulations  of  former  treaties,  upon 
he  has  founded  the  pretensions  which  have  been  the  cause  of  < 
difficulties.' 

We  must  refer  to  Mr.  Ashley's  second  volume  (p.  52), ; 
remainder  of  this  letter,  in  which  Lord  Palmerston  advocf 
view,  that  by  shutting  up  the  Russian  fleet  in  Seba 
Russia  might  be  forced  into  terms  of  peace.  Mr.  Ashley 
a  few  sentences  from  Lord  Aberdeen's  reply.  We  veni 
think  it  would  have  been  fairer  to  have  allowed  Lord  Al 
to  put  his  view  of  the  position  in  his  own  words  by  p 
that  reply  in  full.  It  was  as  follows,  and  is  not  without  j 
at  the  present  crisis : 

*  Argyll  House,  December  13 

*  My  dear  Palmebston, — As  I  have  very  recently  written 
on  the  subjects  of  Eastern  afihirs,  I  should  not  have  thought  i 
sary  to  trouble  you  again,  had  I  not  imagined  that  you  mig 
expected  an  answer  to  your  letter. 

'  I  take  for  granted  that  we  both  desire  to  see  the  termin 
the  existing  war  between  Bnssia  and  Turkey ;  but  I  confesf 
am  not  at  present  prepared  to  adopt  the  mode  which  you  thii 
likely  to  restore  peace. 

*  You  think  that  the  Emperor  ought  to  be  made  to  evaci 
Principalities,  to  abandon  his  demands,  and  to  consent  to  a  i 
of  the  treaties  between  Bussia  and  Turkey. 

*  The  first  condition  will  probably  offer  no  difficulty  in  \ 


Political  Biographies.  371 

of  peace,  as  the  Emperor  has  repeatedly  declared,  that  he  does  not 
de^re,  or  intend,  to  retain  an  inch  of  Turkish  territory. 

*  I  agree  with  you,  that  the  Emperor  ought  to  be  made  to  abandon 
aU  mijost  demands.  He  has  already  abandoned  mnch,  and  will 
prolably  abandon  more.  Bat  after  the  former  breach  of  engagement 
by  the  Turks,  he  has  some  right  to  expect  a  reasonable  assurance  of 
a  Diplomatio  Act  against  the  recurrence  of  this  violation  of  good 
fidth,  as  well  as  that  the  Greek  Christians  should  be  duly  protected. 
This  daim  has  been  put  forward  from  the  commencement  of  the 
n^otiations,  and  to  this  we  have  repeatedly  advised  the  Turks  to 
accede,  without  prejudice  to  the  sovereign  rights  of  the  Sultan. 

'"With  regard  to  the  third  condition,  it  is  vain  to  expect  that 

Bnasia  will  ever  agree  to  the  revision  of  her  former  treaties  with  the 

Porte,  unless  reduced  to  the  last  extremity.    And  if  Omar  Pasha, 

ingtcad  of  having  only  crossed  the  Danube,  had  advanced  to  Moscow, 

Rich  a  proposition  would  scarcely  have  been  entertained.    Neither 

do  X  see  that  Europe  has  any  very  great  interest  in  procuring  such  a 

lerision.    Peace  has  been  maintained  between  Bussia  and  the  Porte 

for  the  last  five-and-twenty  years,  since  the  Treaty  of  Adrianople; 

and,  if  renewed,  it  may  continue  as  long.    The  interpretation  of 

tiewfeies  which  impose  a  moral  obligation  upon  one  of  the  parties 

will  always  be  open  to  doubt  and  cavil ;  but  the  substitution  of  the  Great 

Potwers  in  the  place  of  Bussia,  as  you  propose,  would  probably  render 

^  execution  of  such  stipulations  still  more  complicated  and  uncertain. 

'  Ton  admit  that,  in  order  to  bring  the  Emperor  to  agree  to  those 

tons  of  peace,  it  is  necessary  to  exert  a  considerable  pressure  upon 

kirn.    Now  what  you  call  a  considerable  pressure  I  can  only  regard 

tt  war ;  and  it  is  a  sort  of  war  which  I  do  not  think  very  creditoble 

to  the  honour  and  character  of  this  country.   If  the  conduct  of  Bussia 

kifl  been  so  injurious  to  the  Porte,  and  our  own  interests  are  so 

^oeply  affected  as  to  make  us  think  it  necessary  to  resist  her  attack, 

it  is  not  by  capturing  a  few  ships,  or  blockading  some  port,  that  we 

>bdl  best  prove  our  sympathy ;  but  we  ought  rather  at  once  to  declare 

war,  and  to  make  common  cause  with  our  ally.    We  have  no  treaty 

<>tgagements  with  the  Porte ;  and  although  I  do  not  pretend  to  say 

to  wbt  extremities  we  may  be  driven  by  the  course  of  events,  I  do 

^  believe  that  the  people  of  this  country  are  pre}>ared  to  make  such 

t  aaorifice,  or  that  our  national  honour  and  interests  are  so  much  con- 

^^Ried  as  would  make  it  justifiable  in  us  to  incur  all  the  risks  and 

«oirorB  of  war. 

'Much  as  I  desire  to  avoid  war,  and  reluctant  as  I  am  to  prolong 
^  which  already  exists  between  Bussia  and  the  Porte  by  aimins  at 
^'i^attahiable  conditions  of  peace,  I  would  not  have  you  imagine  ti^t, 
^>>^  no  circumstances  should  I  be  prepared  to  have  recourse  to 
'Qoh  an  alternative.  I  think  that  Bussia  could  never  be  permitted 
|o  ooeapy  Constantinople  and  the  Straits  of  the  Dardanelles ;  and  if 
U  became  evident  that  any  such  intention  was  entertained,  I  believe 
that  the  interests  of  this  countrv  and  of  Europe  would  justify  us  in 
'Storting  at  once  to  the  most  active  hostilities. 

2  B  2  *  Allow 


372  Political  Biographies. 

^  Allow  me  to  recal  your  attention  to  onr  actual  position  w 
respect  to  the  negotiations  for  peace.  We  liave  jnst  effected  ' 
union  of  the  Four  Powers,  and  onr  cordial  concurrence  in  the  sti 
about  to  be  taken  for  arriying  at  this  great  end.  I  regard  the  un 
as  a  most  important  fEict,  and  as  calculated  essentially  to  affect  < 
proceedings,  whether  they  terminate  in  war  or  in  peace.  We  ouj 
not  rashly  to  endanger  the  permanence  of  this  European  oonoc 
and  as  the  Powers  haye  declared  that  the  integrity  of  the  Turk 
territory  is  an  object  of  general  interest,  it  is  to  be  presumed  t 
they  will  take  such  means  as  may  be  necessary  to  secure  it.  Bui 
while  we  haye  sent  pacific  oyertures  to  Constantinople,  and 
endeayouring,  as  mediators,  to  establish  an  armistice  between 
belligerents,  we  should  ourselyes  haye  recourse  to  acts  of  dii 
hostmty,  we  can  scarcely  expect  that  our  allies  would  appiofe 
such  a  decision.  I  greatiy  doubt  whether  the  French  Goyefmn 
would  think  it  just  or  honourable  to  join  us  in  such  a  course.' 

Two  days  before  this  letter  was  written,  a  report  of  the  afii 
of  Sinope  had  reached  England  through  Vienna.  But  it  i 
not  until  the  eyening  of  the  13th,  and  after  the  letter  was  writti 
that  our  Goyernment  receiyed  official  intelligence,  which  show 
that  the  attack  on  the  Turkish  fleet  had  been  made  in  deliben 
defiance  of  France  and  England.  This  at  once  alte^  the  wlu 
aspect  of  affairs.  The  blood  of  both  countries  was  up,  and 
haye  longer  refrained  from  a  decided  course  of  action  woo 
haye  been  impossible  for  any  Goyernment.  Two  days  afti 
wards  (15th  December),  Lord  Falmerston  resigned.  Mr.  Ashk 
with  Lord  Palmerston's  papers  at  his  command,  must  ha 
known  that  this  resignation  had  nothing  whateyer  to  do  wi 
any  diyergence  of  yiews  as  to  our  Eastern  policy  between  La 
Palmerston  and  the  rest  of  the  Aberdeen  Cabinet.  He  k 
indeed  shown,  under  Lord  Palmerston's  own  hand  (*  Life,'  yol.  i 
p.  19),  that  this  was  so.  The  reason,  and  the  only  reason,  f< 
his  taking  this  step,  was,  that  he  could  not  support  a  lax| 
measure  of  Parliamentary  Reform,  proposed  by  Lord  Rosiel 
and  accepted  by  the  Cabinet.  But  Mr.  Ashley,  in  his  desire  i 
claim  special  praise  for  Lord  Palmerston  for  a  sympathy  wil 
the  feeling  of  general  indignation  excited  by  the  tidings  fioi 
Sinope,  more  than  insinuates  that  the  reason  which  he  *  assigned 
for  his  resigiiation  was  not  the  true  one.  ^  The  fact  is,'  1 
writes,  Uhat,  as  Mr.  Kinglakc  says,  he  was  gifted  with  tl 
instinct  which  enables  a  man  to  read  the  heart  of  a  nation,  so 
he  felt  that  the  English  people  would  neyer  forgiye  the  Minifti 
if  nothing  decisiye  were  done  after  the  disasters  at  Sinop 
And,  if  the  fact  were  so,  what  should  we  think  of  the  statesmai 
who  at  such  a  crisis,  without  waiting  to  know  what  his  colleago< 
would  do,  would  haye  deserted  them,  and  thereby  thrown  a&i 

int 


Political  Biographies.  373 

into  confusion?  Lord  Palmerston's  worst  enemy  could  bring 
no  sererer  charge  against  him.  But  the  fact  was  precisely  as 
Lord  Palmerston  himself  put  it  in  a  letter  to  a  leading  member 
of  the  Government  at  the  time,  which  Mr.  Ashley  has  no  doubt 
seen,  that  he  would  not  seem  to  support  a  Reform  Bill,  of  which  he 
entirely  disapprored — 'that,  in  short,  he  did  not  choose  to  be 
dragged  through  the  dirt  by  John  Russell.' 

Afr.  Kinglake,  in  the  last  edition  of  his  *  History  of  the 
Invasion  of  the  Crimea '  (1877),  emboldened  apparently  by  the 
ODuntenance  given  to  his  views  by  Mr.  Ashley,  goes  consider- 
abljr  farther  than  that  gentleman. 

*  Unfortunately,*  it  happened,'  he  says,  'though  for  reasons 
which  cannot  yet  be  disolosed,  that  some  days  before  the  ill-omened 
Thursday ' — the  day  on  which  it  was  resolved  to  send  the  combined 
ilaetB  of  England  and  France  into  the  Black  Sea — '  Lord  Palmerston 
«MW  driven  from  office.  Of  the  justice  or  propriety  of  the  measure 
&118  taken  against  him  no  one  can  yet  be  invited  to  judge,  because  its 
grounds  are  withheld '  (vol.  ii.  p.  28). 

The  statement  that  Lord  Palmerston  was  *  compelled  to  re- 
ngn/  that  he  was  driven  from  office,  is  reiterated  in  the  para- 
mphs  which  follow ;  and  of  some  extraordinary  notes,  which 
Mr.  Kinglake  has  subjoined,  the  following  is  perhaps  the  most 
extraordinary : — 

*  They,'  the  grounds  on  which  Lord  Paknerston  was  driven  from 
<>Aoe^  *  were  even  withheld,  one  may  say,  from  the  faithful  Baron 
Btobkmar ;  for  the  Prince's  letter  to  him  on  the  subject  was  not  a  real 
vid  thorough  disclosure.  Whether  the  curious  outcry  of  those  days 
^^BDst  *^ Prince  Albert's  interference"  was  in  any  way  connected 
^^  the  transactions  above  stated  I  do  not  undertidro  to  say ;  but  it 
Allowed  them  with  a  very  close  step.  The  outcry  was  one  wrongly, 
J^J,  almost  absurdly  directed,  and  was  utterly  silenced  upon  the  meet- 
^  of  Parliament  in  1854  by  Lord  Aberdeen  and  other  public  men, 
^w  spoke  out  with  unshrinking  clearness  upon  what  seemed  until  then 
^  tender  and  delicate  subject. 

'In  flaying  *that  the  outcry  was  wrongly  or  absurdly  directed^  I  am 
^  from  meaning  to  represent  that  it  was  baseless ;  for  I  think,  on  the 
^triiy,  that  transactions,  appearing  to  have  resulted  from  the 
^^Qfltility  of  the  Grown  to  Lord  Palmerston  in  the  five  or  six  middle 

*  11^ '  imfortanately '  ?  Was  Lord  Pahnerston  likely  to  have  raised  his  Toice 
^the  C&bliiet  against  the  decision  to  send  the  combined  Fleets  into  the  Black 
^^?  Why,  he  had  been  urging  this  very  measure  for  months,  and  so  lately  as 
^  lOtti  of  December,  in  the  letter  to  I/)rd  Aberdeen  above  quoted  I  Daring  the 
^f99  vfaea  he  was  absent  from  office,  he  was  in  direct  oommnnication,  as  Lord 
^^ndeea  very  well  knew^  with  Count  Walewski,  of  whose  importunacy  in  pressing 
^e  meaaore  at  this  critical  moment  Mr.  Kinglake  is  manitestly  well  aware, — 
^jnttonaoy  which,  it  ia  no  secret,  was  so  unseemly,  as  to  proyoke  from  the  not 
«Do  impidsiye  Lend  Clarendmi  language  of  spirited  rebuke. 

years 


374  Political  Biographies. 

years  of  this  century,  were  a  very  fit  subject  for  Parliamentary  inqniij, 
and  in  the  meantime  for  that  healthy,  wise  uneasiness  which  awakeDS 
the  care  of  Parliament.  What  Parfiament  ought  to  have  asked,  and 
ought  to  have  taken  care  to  learn,  was,  not  whedierthe  Prince  CoDBort, 
or  any  other"  private  secretary,"  or  friend  or  courtier,  had  been 
giving  counsel  to  the  Queen,  but,  whether  any  of  her  ConMuiiml 
advisers  had  been  guilty  of  undue  complacency  to  ike  Crown^  orofk- 
triguing  against  a  colleague, 

'  If  the  life  of  the  late  Prince  Consort  in  1853  should  be  unre- 
servedly imparted  to  the  public,  the  "  grounds  "  above  referred  to  as 
wanting  will  not  fail  to  appear.  The  December  of  1853  was  a  critical 
month  in  the  Prince  Consort's  political  life '  (ibid.  p.  29). 

Mr.  Kinglake,  who  is  a  master   of  English  style,  usually 
makes  his   meaning  clear   enough,   but   it  would   require  an 
Qildipus  to  unravel  the  mystery  of  this  note.     What  doei  it 
mean  ?     If  Mr.  Theodore  Martin,  in  his  ^  Life  of  the  Prince 
Consort,'  touched  lightly  on  the  question  of  Lord  Palmerston's 
sudden  resignation  in  1853,  he  probably  did  so  because  the 
event,  however  curious  in  itself,  had  very  little  bearing  upon 
the  story  he  had  to  tell.     We  can  quite  conceive  that  in  this 
case,  as  in  many  others,  he  has  suppressed  very  interesting  de- 
tails, solely  from  considerations  of  space  and  due  proportion,  and 
not  because  there  was  anything  to  conceal  which  would  in  any 
way  have  compromised  either  the  Crown  or  the  Prince  Consort 
His  very  delicate  and  difficult  task  would,  we  can  well  imagine, 
become  intolerable  to  himself,  as  it   would   be   oppressive  to 
his  readers,  if  he  were  to  go  into  the  ins  and  outs  of  every 
Ministerial  crisis,  or  the  minute  incidents  of  the  story  of  the  causes 
of  the  Crimean  War,  into  which  Mr.  Kinglake  has  infused  the 
fire,  with  something  of  the  freedom,  of  romance.      No  doubt 
Mr.  Martin  has  in  the  case  of  Lord  Palmerston  deviated  some- 
what from  this  rule ;  but  it  is  very  obvious  that  he  was  driven 
to  do  so  by  the  indiscretion  of  Lord  Palmerston's  biographer. 
It  could  not  be  otherwise  than  painful  to  him  to  have  to  say 
unpleasant  things  of  one  who  enjoyed  so  great  a  name  among 
departed  statesmen.    All  good  Englishmen  must  desire  to  uphold 
the  reputation  of  our  leading  public  men  at  its  highest  level; 
and  that  Mr.  Martin  is  strongly  influenced  by  this  desire  seems 
very  clear  from  the  prevailing  spirit  of  his  volumes. 

To  have  passed  over  in  silence  the  injurious  imputations  in 
Mr.  Ashley  s  book,  against  both  the  Prince  Consort  and  the 
Queen,  would  have  been  a  fatal  mistake,  for  it  would  have  keen 
construed  into  an  admission  that  they  were  well-founded. 
Nevertheless,  Mr.  Kinglake,  like  some  others  of  Lord  Palmer- 
ston's  friends,  seems  to  be  angry  that  these  imputations  have 

been 


Political  Biographief.  '  375 

3beeii  met  by  the  unanswerable  documents  in  Mr.  Martin's  last 
published  volume.     In   no   other  way  can  we  account  for  the 
bitterness  with  which,  in  the  edition  of  his  history  now  being 
published,  Mr.  Kinglake   speaks   of  the  Prince   Consort     In 
former  editions  the  Prince  was  mentioned  with  respect,    and 
even  with  admiration.     A  well-known   paragraph  in  his  first 
chapter,  as  just  in  appreciation  of  the  Prince's  political  position 
and  influence,  as  it  was   admirable  in   expression,   has  been 
cancelled ;  and  in  its  stead,  wherever  these  are  spoken  of  by 
Mr.  Kinglake,  it  is,  that  they  may  be  ridiculed  or  denounced. 
In    what   we   venture   to   think  doubtful   taste,  Mr.  Kinglake 
loses  no  opportimity  of  sneering  at  ^  the  two  intelligent  Germans, 
the  Prince  Consort  and  the  Baron  Stockmar'  (vol.  ii.  p.  64,  note), 
4md  of  inviting  Mr.  Martin  to  show  that  the  Prince  did  not 
share  the  blunders   in  their   Eastern  policy,  with  which  Mr. 
Kinglake  charges  the  Aberdeen  Ministry.     Suppose  Mr.  Martin 
could  show,  that  in  the  instances  referred  to,  the  Prince  (which 
practically  means  the  Queen  also)  was  right,  and  the  Govern- 
ment wrong,  would  he  be  likely  to  use  his  information  for  such  a 
purpose?  It  may  not  have  struck  Mr.  Kinglake,  though  it  certainly 
could  not  escape  the  eye  of  a  writer  charged  with  the  responsible 
task  which  has  been  entrusted  to  Mr.  Martin,  that  to  exalt  the 
reputation  of  the  Prince  at  the  cost  of  the  responsible  advisers  of 
the  Crown  would  be  an  act  which  the  Prince  would  himself  have 
been  the  first  to  condemn,  and  which  would  be  incompatible  with 
Mr.  Martin's  duty  to  the  Sovereign,  who  has  honoured  him  with 
ber  confidence. 

In  the  case  more  immediately  before  us,  we  are  in  a  posi- 
tion to  show  that  there  is  in  fact  nothing  to  disclose  beyond 
what  is  known,  and  that  if  Mr.  Martin  has  said  so  little  about 
it,  this  was  presumably  because  there  was  little  to  say  beyond 
what  he  has  said. 

Of  this,  the  correspondence  of  Lord  Palmerston  with  Lord 
Aberdeen,  which  is  before  us  as  we  write,  leaves  no  room  for 
doubt.  Lord  Palmerston,  as  we  have  said,  was  hostile  to  Lord 
Russell's  scheme  of  Reform.  The  Cabinet,  as  a  body,  had 
accepted  it.  Lord  Lansdowne  shared  many  of  Lord  Palmer- 
ston s  objections,  and  to  him  Lord  Palmerston  wrote  stating  his 
views  at  great  length.  He  sent  a  copy  of  this  letter,  and  of  Loixl 
Lansdowne's  reply  to  Lord  Aberdeen,  on  the  10th  of  December. 
On  the  11th  Lord  Aberdeen  acknowledged  the  receipt  of  these 
papers.  *  I  need  scarcely  say,'  he  wrote,  *  that  both  Lord  John 
and  I  would  greatly  rejoice  if  means  could  be  found  to  diminish 
jrour  objections,  without  impairing  the  efiicient  character  of  the 

measure. 


376  Political  Biographies. 

measure.     From   our  recent  conversations,  however,  I  cannot 
feel  very  sanguine  that  this  would  be  the  case.' 
On  the  14th  Lord  Aberdeen  again  wrote : — 

'  Mt  deab  Falmebston, — The  objections  70a  have  stated  to  the  pro* 
posed  measure  of  Parliamentary  Beform  in  your  letter  to  Lansdowne 
have  now  been  folly  considered  by  Lord  John  and  by  Graham.   I  havo 
already  assured  you  that  a  sincere  desire  existed  to  meet  your  views, 
and,  if  possible,  to  obviate  your  objections ;  but  they  appear  to  be  sc^ 
serioas  as  to  shike  at  the  most  essential  principles  of  the  meaanre.^^ 
Under  these  circumstances,  we  fear  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  mtk^ 
any  such  alterations  as  could  be  expected  to  afford  you  satiaCMstioiL-^ 
I  very  much  regret  the  necessity  of  making  this  oonmiunication 
you,  although  I  concur  in  the  propriety  of  the  decision  that  has ' 
adopted.' 


Upon  receipt  of  this  letter  Lord  Palmerston  sent  in  his 
signation,  which  was  accepted.  However  embarrassing  to  the- 
Ministiy,  it  did  not  take  them  by  surprise,  knowing  what  they 
did  of  Lord  Palmerston's  avowed  hostility  to  the  principles  o' 
the  proposed  Reform  Bill ;  and  the  vacant  Seals  were  with  Her 
Majesty's  sanction  offered  to  Sir  George  Grey.  Lord  Paliner> 
ston  had  apparently  counted  on  Lord  Lansdowne  following  his 
example.  But  however  much  the  veteran  statesman  disliked 
Lord  John's  innovations,  he  felt  that  this  was  not  a  time  U> 
weaken  the  Government  by  secession,  and  he  announced  his 
intention  to  remain.  By  the  17th  this  decision  was  known,  and 
immediately  afterwards  Lord  Palmerston  let  it  be  understood  by 
his  late  colleagues,  through  common  friends,  that  he  wished 
reconsider  the  step  he  had  taken.  This  gave  colonr  to  tb^ 
surmise,  very  generally  entertained  at  the  time,  that  he  h 
hoped,  by  carrying  Lord  Lansdowne  with  him,  to  break  up 
Ministry,  and  so  to  open  the  way  for  his  own  ambitious  aims  n 
the  Premiership.  As  it  was,  he  found  himself  standing  alone- 
having  thrown  himself  out  of  office  upon  grounds  that 
expose  him  to  the  condemnation  of  his  Radical  admirers  . 
Seeking  to  damage  Lord  Aberdeen,  he  had  only  damage«L3 
himself.  ^ 

It  was  clearly  of  moment  to  Lord  Palmerston's  political  poi«- — 
tion,  that  he  should  retrieve  his  blunder  as  rapidly  as  possibl 
Without  seeming  himself  to  initiate  a  movement  to  this 


*  It  is  important  to  bear  these  words  in  mind,  with  referenoe  t*)  Lotd 
ston's  statement  in  the  letter  to  be  presently  quoted,  that  he  had  ^^^Jm-l 
*acquie*eed  in  (he  leading  principle$  on  which  the  proposed  measoie  is  fovnW' 
Lord  Aberdeen,  with  Lora  Palmerston's  recent  letter  to  Lord  Lansdowne  frw^ 
in  his  mind,  modt  have  smiled  a  very  sardonic  smile  as  he  read  tnese  wordfr     . 


Political  Biographies.  377 

it  was  not  difficult  to  arrange  for  its  being  pushed  by  others. 

Accordingly  negotiations  with  a  view  to  his  resumption  of  his 

place  -  at  the  Home  Office  were  pressed  upon  the  leaders  of  the 

Cabinet  by  influential  members  of  the  Liberal  party.    Sir  George 

Grey  held  back  from  accepting  the  offer  made  to  him.     It  was 

seen  that  the  loss  of  so  popular  a  man  as  Lord  Palmerston  might 

be  serious  to  the  Ministry,  at  a  juncture  when  the  public  interests 

required  that  the  Government  should  be  strong  in  itself  and  in 

the  confidence  of  the  country.     Lord  Palmerston  withdrew  his 

objections   to   Reform,   avowing  that  he   now   agreed   to   the 

pirinciple  of  the  measure ;    and   the  Cabinet,  not,  we   believe, 

iv^ithout  reluctance,  agreed  to  readmit  the  repentant  rebel  into 

itM  ranks.     What  ensued  is  best  told   in  the  following  corre- 

s>f>ondence  between  Lord  Aberdeen  and  himself: 

*  Carlton  Gardens,  23rd  December,  1853. 
^Mt  deab  Absbdebn, — I  find  by  comnmnications  which  I  have 
ri^M3eived  during  the  last  fow  days  from  several  members  of  the 
GV^ovemment,  that  I  was  mistaken  in  inferring  from  your  letter  of  the 
I'^'fth  instant^  that  the  details  of  the  intended  Reform  Bill  had  been 
fiz^ttUy  settled  by  the  Government,  and  that  no  objection  to  any  part 
^^   "these  details  would  be  listened  to. 

^  1  am  informed,  on  the  contrary,  that  the  whole  arrangement  is  still 
of^^an  to  discussion.  Under  these  circumstances,  and  acquiescing  as  I 
^^^^^e  all  along  done  in  the  leading  principles  on  which  the  proposed 
y^^sure  has  been  founded,  I  cannot  decline  to  comply  with  the 
^^^ndly  wish  expressed  to  me  on  the  part  of  many  members  of  the 
G'^^^emment  that  I  should  withdraw  a  resignation  which  they  assure 
^^  WIS  founded  on  a  misconception  on  my  part,  and  ther^oro  my 
^^'^^^er  to  you  of  the  14th  may  be  considered  as  cancelled  if  it  should 
■*^'k  your  arrangements  so  to  deal  with  it.* 

*  You  will  perhaps  allow  me  to  add  that  the  decision  which  I  am 
^^<>nned  the  Cabinet  came  to  yesterday  to  accede  to  the  proposal  of 
^^    French  Government,  whereby  the  English  and  French  squadrons 

jv^  Mr.  Kinglake  aaks  (vol.  11.  p.  30,  note),  *  In  the  midst  of  those  anxious 
y^^^^mher  days  when  England  was  fast  driring  towards  war,  how  came  it  ta 
^j^pen  that  a  "  diflerence  'on  the  then  flat  subject  of  poor  old  **  Reform  "  was  so 
2^?^  **  to  become  the  means  of  driving  Lord  Palmerston  from  office  ?  That,*  he 
Q^^^^  'is  the  step  of  which  I  say  in  the  text,  that  the  grounds  are  withheld.' 
•^^^■^mon  sense  aaks, — if  Lord  Fidmerston,  to  use  his  own  words  cited  aboTe» 
^?|^^ideioed  in  the  leading  principles*  of  the  proposed  Reform  BQl,how  could 
j^^  meaaore  have  been  usea  as  '  the  means  oi  driving  him  from  office  V  liord 
^^^^  RubmII  was  the  father  of  the  measure,  but  no  one  of  all  the  members  of  the 


*l^^cncy  to  the  Crown'— we  suppose — *  brandished*  the  question  of  what 
v^^^Qs  snould  be  disfranchised,  and  to  which  other  places  the  vacant  scats  should 
^^iTen,  *  in  such  a  way  as  to  compel  Lord  Palmerston  to  retire  from  the  Govern- 
^^^t.'  If  the  grounds  for  such  a  belief  are  '  withheld,*  may  this  not  be  because 
'^^y  do  not  exist? 

wiU 


378  Political  Biographies. 

will  ha^e  the  command  of  the  Black  Sea,  greatly  enters  into  the  con-       ^^ 
siderationB  which  have  led  me  to  address  dds  letter  to  you. 

'  The  Duke  of  Newcastle,  with  whom  I  had  a  long  conyersatioii 
this  morning,  has  been  so  good  as  to  undertake  to  conyey  this  letter 
to  you. — My  dear  Aberdeen,  yours  sincerely, 

*  Falmxbstok.' 

'  Argyle  House,  24th  December,  185S. 

'  Mt  deab  Palmebston, — As  I  had  communicated  your  resignati^^^^ 
of  office  to  the  Queen,  I  thought  it  right  to  take  Her  Majesty^^ 
pleasure  before  answering  your  letter  received  this  morning. 

'  I  confess  that  I  cannot  well  understand  how  you  should  infer 
my  letter  of  the  14th  instant,  that  the  details  of  the  intended  Befoi 
Bill  had  been  finally  settled  by  the  Gk)yemment,  and  that  no  objeotia::^^^ 
to  any  part  of  these  details  would  be  listened  to;  as  yon  wer  © 
yourself  a  member  of  a  Committee  which  had  not  completed  its  d^^s- 
liberations,  when  by  your  letter  to  me  of  the  10th  instant  yo  ^ 
expressed  very  decided  opinions. adverse  to  all  the  leading  provisioii^^BS 
of  the  proposed  measure.  However,  I  wish  to  say  no  more  upor--~~~n 
that  which  you  allow  to  have  been  a  misconception  on  your  part,  an-  ^ 
I  very  readily  agree  to  consider  your  letter  of  the  14th  as  cancelled— —- 

'  Although  not  connected  with  the  cause  of  your  resignation,  la        ^ 
glad  to  find  that  you  approve  of  a  recent  decision  of  the  Cabinet  ¥~' 
respect  to  the  British  and  French  Fleets  adopted  in  your  absence, 
feel  assured  you  will  have  learned  with  pleasure  that  whether  abse: 
or  present  the  Government  are  duly  careful  to  preserve  from  iiymy  ' 
interests  and  dignity  of  the  country. — Ever  truly  yours, 

*  Abxbdkiv.' 

With  these  letters  before  us,  what  becomes  of  .Mr.  Kinglak 
mysterious    innuendoes   about   Lord  Palmerston    having 
*  driven  from  office  ? '  about  disclosures  being  withheld  ?  abo 
intrigues  by  colleagues,  acting  from  ^  undue  complacency  to  t 
Crown  ?'  and  about  'December,  1853,  being  a  critical  month 
the  Prince  Consort's  life  ? '     Af  r.  Kinglake  is  a  man  of  too 
honour  to  make  any  statement  which  he  does  not  believe  to 
true  ;  but  he  should  be  well  assured  of  his  gpround  before  puttixra^ 
forward   insinuations  so  serious.      It   is  not  merely  that  thej* 
affect  the  reputation  of  statesmen,  most  of  whom  are  silent  'mb 
the  grave  ;  thej  impugn  the  conduct  of  the  Sovereign,  whose  eyes 
they  may  never  reach,  and  who,  at  all  events,  cannot  descend 
into  the  arena  of  controversy  to  refute  them.    Why,  if  thcchirgw 
which  Mr.  Kinglake  hints  were  true,  did  Lord  Palmerston  never 
bring  them  to  the  proof  in  his  life,  when  those  whom  he  acccses 
in  letters  printed  by  Mr.  Ashley,  of  *  conspiracy,*  domestic  and 
foreign,  ag«-iinst  him,  w^ould  have  been  able  to  meet  him  face  to 
face?     If  he   never  did  so,  is  it  too  much  to  assume  thst  be 
knew  that  such  charges,  though  they  might  be  insinuated  bj  bis 

devoteei 


The  Kitchen  and  the  Cellar.  379 

votees  in  irresponsible  newspapers,  or  expressed  in  private 
ters  of  his  own,  which,  we  may  feel  very  sure,  were  never  meant 
see  the  light,  must  have  been  confuted  with  disgrace  to  their 
thor,  if  he  had  thrown  down  the  gauntlet  of  open  defiance  ? 
is  one  of  the  mischiefs  of  crude  and  rash  biogpraphies,  like 
s  before  us,  that  they  make  suggestions  such  as  those  of  Mr. 
nglake  possible,  where  even  ordinary  care  on  the  biographer's 
rt  in  sifting,  and  ordinary  candour  in  arguing  from,  the  evi- 
ice  of  authentic  documents,  must  have  made  them  absolutely 
possible. 

BtT.  IIL — 1.  Le  Livre  de  Cuisine.     Par  Jules  Gouffe,  compre- 

nant  la  *  Cuisine  de  Manage  ^  etla^  Grande  Cuisine^  avec  25 

planches  imprimes  en  chrom(hlithographiey  et  161   vignettes 

sur  hois.     Paris,  1867. 
!.  UArt  de  la  Cuisine  Franqaise  au  Dix-neuvihrne  Sihcle.    Traiti 

{Umentaire  et  pratique^  suivi  de  Dissertations  Cidinaires  et 

GastronomiqueSy   utiles  aux  progrhs  de  cet  Art.      Par    M. 

Antonin  Careme.     Paris,  1833. 
3.  Modem  Domestic  Cookery.     By  a  Lady.     A  new  edition, 

based   on   the  Work  of  Mrs.  Rundell.     245th  Thousand. 

London,  1865. 
L  Cuisine  de  Tous  les  Pays :  Etudes  Cosmopolites^  avec  220  dessins 

composes  pour  la  demonstration.      Par  Urbain  Dubois,  chef 

de  cuisine  de  leurs  Majestes  Royales  de  Prusse.      Paris, 

1868. 
i.  Cosmopolitan  Cookery.     Popular  Studies,  with  310  Drawings. 

By  Urbain  Dubois.     London,  1870. 
5.  Gastronomy  as  a  Fine  Art,  or  the  Science  of  Good  Living. 

A  Translation  of  the  ^Physiologie  du  Gout '  of  Brillat-Savarin. 

By  R.  E.  Anderson,  M.A.     London,  1877. 
r.  Buckmaster^s  Cookery :   being  an  abridgment  of  some  of  the 

Lectures  delivered  in  the  Cookery  School  at  the  International 

Exhibition  for  1873  and  1874 ;  together  with  a  collection  of 

approved  Recipes  and  Menus.     London. 
J.  TTie  Art  of  Dining;    or   Gastronomy  and   Gastronomers. 

New  Edition.     London,  1853. 
).  Report  on  Cheap  Wines.     By  Dr.  Druitt.     London,  1873. 
X  The  Third  Annual  Report  of  the  Executive  Committee  of  the 

National  Training  School  for  Cookery,  for  the  year  ending 

Zlst  March,  1876. 

T  is  now  more  than  forty  years  ago  since  a  writer  in  this 
Review    discoursed,   with    a   perfect   knowledge   of    the 
ibject,  on  the  Science  with  which  a  dinner  should  be  served 

and 


[ 


380  The  Kitchen  and  tlie  Cellar. 

and  the  Art  with  which  it  should  be  eaten.*  The  popularitj 
which  his  remarks  obtained,  when  separately  published  under 
the  title  of  '  The  Art  of  Dining/  proved  that  that  generatioa 
appreciated  his  summary  of  the  laws  of  gastronomical  obsenra^ 
tion  in  relation  to  their  food  and  wines.  Would  that  it  were  in 
our  power  to  say  that  there  has  been  since  that  day  real  progreis 
as  well  in  that  Art  as  in  the  Science  of  Cookery  in  England  I  It 
would  be  unreasonable  to  expect  that  material  prosperity  should 
bring  in  its  train  the  plain  and  simple  refinement  of  taste  due 
to  other  conditions  than  those  of  mere  wealth. 

Our  present  object  being  entirely  practical,  we  do  not  propoie 
to  go  into  the  history  of  cookery.  Nor,  indeed,  is  it  necessaiy  to 
do  so ;  for  it  would  be  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  improre 
on  the  general  sketch,  given  by  the  author  of  the  *Art  of 
Dining,'  of  the  history  of  cookery  from  the  earliest  period  up 
to  1789;  and  his  account  of  the  celebrated  cooks  of  the 
Empire  and  the  Restoration  is  one  of  the  most  interesting 
contributions  to  the  literature  of  the  subject. 

A  glance  at  the  present  state  of  gastronomical  science  i^^ 
show   us  that  the   French,  while  still  very  perfect  in  it,  »^ 
scarcely  on  a  par  with  their  forefathers  of  the  period  of  tb* 
Restoration ;  nor  shall  we  accept  the  Cafe  Anglais,  the  C»*^ 
Voisin,  good  as  its  cellar  is,  still  less  the  Maison  Doree  of  tb^ 
present  day,  in  place  of  the  Freres  Provenqaux,  Philippe*s,  ****» 
V efour's  of  the  past.    If  we  turn  northward  to  Belgium  we  sb^ 
find  much  that  is  good  in  cooking  and  eating  known,  if  ^^ 
universally  practised,  whilst  in  reference  to  wine  the  Belgi^^* 
surpass  all  other  countries  in  their  intimate  acquaintance  wi^^* 
and  accurate  knowledge  of,  the  best  vintages  of  Burgundy.       ^ 
Great  Britain  we  may  hope  that  we  are  on  the  path  of  progr*^^^ 
some  elements  of  race  not  unfavourable  to  gastronomical  obser^^f 
tion  at  times  appearing  in  our  strange  mixture  of  Teutonic  W^^ 
other  blood. 

The  wealth  of  America  brings  in  its  train  some  new  recij^^ 
in  the  preparation  of  oysters  and  lobsters,  and  its  indigen.^^*^ 
birds  offer  to  the  '  gourmet'  a  new  subject  for  discourse,  and  Ir^^ 
test  for  the  faculties  he  possesses.  - 

Passing  again  northward,  we  find  the  whole  science  ruthle»^  -i 
ignored  by  the  pure  Teutonic  race  of  the  German  Empire  ^  * 
and  if  gastronomy  has  not  vainly  claimed  its  due  consideratS-^^  _ 
in  the  empire  of  the  Cossacks,  it  is  rather  because  the 


*  See  'Quarterly  Beview'  Article  on  'Gastronomy  and  Gastronomeia^ 
July  1835.  and  Article  on  Mr.  Walker's  '  Original/  in  February,  1886. 

t  We  must  except,  however,  the  once  free  city  of  Hamboig,  where 
Wilkins,  a  restaurateur,  formerly  had  a  dwelling-plaoe. 


The  Kitchen  and  the  Cellar.  381 

immense  advantages  by  the  importation  of  French 
astounding  prices ;  and  in  their  rivalry  with  Western 
n,  have  introduced  the  certain  advantages  of  croquettes 
lenne'  soup  ;  while  they  serve  in  their  truly  hospitable 
lat  noble  fish,  the  sterlet,  in  a  form  and  with  a  sauce 
urely  meet  with  elsewhere.  Nor  is  their  caviare  to  be 
d,  although  in  Western  Europe  we  rarely  find  it,  as 
1,  of  that  pale  green  colour  which  denotes  an  absence 
South  and  eastward  we  come  upon  remnants  of  the 
race  mixed  up  with  Czech  and  Sclavonic  blood,  and 
uence  we  find  that  singular  view  of  gastronomic  philo- 
ich  obtains  in  Vienna,  where  people  will  neither  dine 
rht  hour,  eat  dishes  in  their  right  places,  nor  insist  on 
:8  roasting,  in  place  of  baking,  meats. 
f  there  was  once  a  better  state  of  science,  but  if  it  has 
^,  there  are  still  hopes  for  a  land  where  simple  deli- 
5  of  flour  present  models  to  the  world ;  where  tomatoes 
mous,  and  rice  has  its  cooks. 

add,  that  the  science  is  not  absolutely  ignored  in 
lor  looked  upon  as  a  vain  and  foolish  thing  in  China 
a.  This  generalisation  leaves  untouched  the  position 
ience  in  Spain,  Portugal,  our  colonies,  and  the  lands 
lussia,  where  live  the  great  Sclavonic  brotherhood, 
se  last,  the  imitative  faculties  promise  a  better  future 
e  than  will  probably  be  the  lot  of  the  Spaniard, 
ap  in  the  dignified  conceit  of  an  aged  people ;  or  of 
colonists,  the  offspring  of  a  race  traditionally  wedded 

gravy  soup,  smoke-grilled  chops,  and  plain  boiled 

ttempt  to  review  the  present  aspect  of  gastronomical 
re  must  also  take  some  note  of  drinking,  and  consider, 
iisly  perhaps  for  some,  whether  the  prevalent  notions 
les,  what  their  quality  should  be,  and  when  they  are 
'e  based  on  sound  principles.  And  however  firmly 
L  we  may  be  that  our  views  are  sound,  we  readily 
,t  there  is  no  infallibility  in  dogmas  directed  against 
pie's  stomachs,  and  their  habits  of  eating  and  drinking, 
not  the  example  of  Brillat-Savarin  in  the  neglect  by 
h  of  some  of  his  most  earnestly  insisted-on  precepts  ? 
.  that  eminent  man  say  with  reference  to  the  use  of 
ig-glass  after  dinner?  that  it  was  ^useless,  indecent, 
isting ;'  and  who  that  has  travelled  has  not  known 
3ning  five  minutes  after  dinner  where  the  use  of  it 
nd  which,  if  universal,  would  make  us  seem  to  descend 
in  advance  in  the  refinements  of  civilised  life  ?     After 

Brillat-Savarin's 


i 


382  The  Kitchen  and  the  Cellar. 

Brillat-Savarin's  efforts,  how  shall  a  humble  writer  hope  to 
persuade  Englishmen  that  they  do  not  know  what  soup  is,  and 
that  they  rest  in  profound  error  in  their  abuse  of  champagne? 
The  most  to  be  hoped  for  is  that  further  gastronomical  observa* 
tion  will  be  encouraged,  and  that  the  votaries  of  the  science 
being  multiplied,  general  ignorance  will  eventually  be  leavened; 
for  we  think  that  none  will  dispute  that  there  is  a  decided  lack 
of  gastronomical  knowledge  amongst  our  countiymen.  We 
well  remember  the  indignation  with  which  a  friend,  an  M.P., 
in  whose  eyes  dining  is  an  art,  after  the  precepts  of  the  author 
of  the  '  Art  of  Dining,'  and  cooking  an  exact  science,  after  the 
manner  of  Careme,  recounted  the  fatal  want  of  observation  on 
the  part  of  a  common  friend,  whom  we  will  call  Brown.  Brown 
was  staying  at  Spa,  at  the  same  hotel  as  the  M.P.,  and  had 
been  invited  to  join  a  party  for  a  trip  to  that  charming  little 
spot,  Chaudefontaine,  where  they  were  to  dine.  On  his  return, 
the  M .P.  cross-examined  him  as  to  the  bill  of  fare,  the  wines,  &c. 
The  menu  was  tolerably  well  described,  but  on  the  subject  of 
drink  Brown  declared  that  they  had  had  '  champagne  and  claret, 
or  something.'  *  Now,'  observed  our  friend,  *  we  all  know  that 
the  party  was  under  the  direction  of  that  best  of  judges  of  good 
liquor,  Sir  H.  E. ;  and  any  man  with  the  slightest  knowledge 
of  the  district,  and  a  feeling  for  Art-dining,  is  aware  that  the 
commonest  hotels  abound  in  good  Burgundy,  and  that  no  man 
of  the  baronet's  experience  would  think  of  ordering  claret  in 
the  Wallon  country,  if  his  guests  were  not  absolutely  averse  to 
Burgundy.'* 

Of  one  thing  we  may  be  sure,  no  British  restaurateur  will 
help  the  public  to  a  knowledge  of  the  art  of  dining.  Individu- 
ally or  collectively  they  may  run  up  piles  of  buildings,  and 
tempt  a  *  clientele '  by  the  cleanliness  and  beauty  of  their  mural 
decoration ;  but  when  it  comes  to  a  question  of  food,  even 
supposing  the  quality  to  be  moderately  good,  every  difficulty 
will  be  thrown  in  the  way  of  a  man  and  his  wife,  or  brother  an 
sister,  to  dine  modestly,  but  with  variety.  For  those  who 
not  gourmands  it  is  probable  that  one  portion  of  soup  and  on 
of  fish  would  suffice  for  two,  but  here  the  restaurateur  (at  l 


*  It  may  be  useful  to  the  traveller  abroad  to  kuow  that  nowhere  is 
to  be  obtained  in  irach  perfection  as  in  the  Wallon  district  of  Belgium^ 
prising  Liege,  Namur,  Spa,  Dinant,  &c.    At  little  hostelries  in  remote  dit 
in  the  Ardennes  you  will  get  Burgundy  that  would  be  of  value  at  great 
quets  in  Londou.    For  some  reason  the  climate  and  cellars  of  this  distriot 
the  wine,  and  the   people  have  the   sense  to  lay  down  enou^  of  it    I£ 
traveller's  peregrinations  take  him  towards  Mons,  Charleroi,  or  Yalencienn* 
France,  he  will  be  wise  to  ask  for  still  red  Champagne,  a  delioate,  fine 
worthy  of  grave  sipping  and  steady  reflective  observation. 


The  Kitchen  and  the  Cellar.  383 

one  that  we  could  name),  steps  in  and  says,  ^you  shall  not 
have  less  than  two  portions,  although  one  may  suffice  you :  you 
shall  pay  me  double  for  having  placed  before  you  what  you 
don't  want.'  Of  course  these  men  know  their  own  business 
and  the  nature  of  their  customer^,  but  they  must  not  come  to 
us  for  a  character  as  assistants  in  the  gpreat  science  under  notice. 
At  one  or  two  good-class  restaurants  in  the  West  End  they 
still  keep  up  the  old  French  tradition  of  allowing  you  to  order 
just  so  many  portions  for  so  many  people  as  may  please  you, 
the  only  true  method  of  permitting  a  varied  repast  at  a  moderate 
price. 

Let  us  premise  that,  if  we  may  seem  to  extol  certain  forms 

and  methods  of  cooking  as  practised  in  France,  it  should  be 

understood  that  this  is  far  from  supporting  the  introduction  of 

what  is  known  as  French  cookery  into  England.      Hitherto 

what  has  been  imported  is  practically  a  good  deal  of  cook's 

French,  in  the  shape  of  titles  to  indifferent  imitations  of  good 

dishes.     Against  these  the  Englishman  naturally  protests ;  and, 

as  a  rule,  the  manager  of  his  household  has  yet  to  learn  that 

in  a  French  ^cuisine  bourgeoise'  no  shams  are  indulged  in, 

ax&d  that  simplicity  and  economy  reign  where  we  have  waste 

0Xid  the  master's  despair. 

The  gastronomical  observer,  to   be  useful,  need  not  trouble 

himself  to  examine  how  a  great  banquet  should  be  prepared ; 

tlxAt  is  the  business  of  a  ^  chef.'     What  he  may  inquire  about 

sboald  be — ^What  are  the  elements  in  the  cooking  for  a  private 

household  in  France  or  elsewhere  which  can  be  imported  with 

^^vajitage  into  the  English  household? 

^Ve  begin  with  what  should  form  the  beginning  of  every 

unoer,  namely,  soup.     Our  first  observation  addressed  to  our 

^^^J^x^trywomen  who  sway  in  the  kitehen  would  be  that,  putting 

"^^d^  *  purees '  of  peas,  carrot,  hare,  gprouse,  &c.,  and  speaking 

^■*    ^^laeap  everyday  refreshing  soups,  the  liquid  whereof  they  are 

'^^^^  should  be  regarded  as  the  vehicle  for  applying  to  the 

P^'l«i>te  certain  herbal  flavours,  a  strengthening  and  nutritious 

''^'^^ie  if  you  will,  but  still  a  vehicle.     A  strong  gravy-soup, 

r^^     delight  of  the  British  cook,  kills  all  herbal  flavour,  and 

'^l^e  palate  is  to  be  considered  at  all,  it  may  be  counted  a 

^^i^d  gastronomical  axiom  that  flavour  and  not  sustenance  is 

^^    first  consideration  at  the  beginning  of  a  sound,  well-ordered 

^^I^^jBt     The  herbal  flavours  may  vary ;  they  may  be  derived 

^^**x  fresh  vegetables   in  the   spring-time  passing   under  the 

^  ^*^    *  a  la  jardiniere,'  from  the  cabbage  and  carrot  as  in  the 

^^''c^'Gte  au  pot,'  or  from  the  mixture  made  by  the  sage  inventor 

^lic  *  julienne'  soup. 

Strictly 


384  The  KitcJten  and  the  Cellar. 

Strictly  speaking,  for  the  purposes  of  culinary  education  we 
must  go,  as  Mr.  Buckmaster  has  done  in  his  lectures,  to  the  ^  pot: 
au  feu '  which  Goufie  calls  ^  I'ame  de  la  cuisine  de  menage ';  bnt^ 
as  we  are  now  referring  to  the  constituents  of  a  dinner,  let  us  se^ 
how  julienne,  the  type  of  herbal  soups,  should  be  prepared^ 
and  compare  it  with  the  accepted  julienne  of  clubs,  restaurants^ 
and  cooks  who  prepare  dinners  for  London  parties.  The  cook^ 
who  knows  his  business,  will  take  carrots,  the  red  part  only, 
turnips,  celery,  leeks,  onions,  cabbage,  lettuce,  sorel,  and  chervil^ 
in  quantities  proportionate  to  the  number  of  persons  he  has 
serve,  and  he  will  cut  them  up  very  small  and  thin.  In  Fran 
a  special  cutter  is  sold  at  the  ironmongers'  for  the  purpose.  H 
will  then  pass  the  onions  and  leeks  over  the  fire,  with  a  good 
sized  piece  of  butter.  He  will  next  throw  all  the  rest  of  tb 
vegetables,  cut  up  as  above,  into  boiling  water  and  let  them 
there  five  minutes,  after  which  he  will  place  them  on  a  straine 
to  drip.  When  the  water  is  drained  off,  he  will  add  the  onion 
and  leeks,  and  put  all  in  a  saucepan  (a  copper  one),  add  a  litdi 
sugar  and  some  butter,  pour  over  them  a  little  '  bouillon '  or  sonjK 
and  proceed  to  cook  them,  by  allowing  them  gently  to  8imm< 
for  a  couple  of  hours  when,  being  well  cooked  and  tender,  th 
bouillon  or  'consomme'  (which  should  assimilate  to  a  w< 
beef-tea),  may  be  added  and  the  soup  served. 

Gouffc  differs  somewhat  from  this  formula,  which  was  give 

us  by  Dubost  Freres,  the  well-known  restaurateurs  in  Brusielss, 

who  have  since  disposed  of  their  business.     Gouffe  directs  yomji 

to  let  your  consomme  simmer,  with  the  herbs  in  it,  for  thre^ 

hours,  merely  adding  some  lettuce  and  sorel,  chopped  up  te-n 

minutes  before  serving.     But  we  think  he  is  inconsistent  witili 

previous  precepts,  for  in  his  opening  remarks  about  bouillon 

he  insists  that  vegetables  should  not  be  left  in  it  longer  thsLZi 

necessary  for  their  being  cooked.    We  should  add  that  consomna^ 

is  a  more  expensive  thing  to  make  than  bouillon,  which  is  tb^ 

base  of  it.     Gouffe,  for  instance,  directs  a  proportion  of  abo""** 

six  lbs.  of  beef,  four  of  veal,  and  two  fowls  to  simmer  four  hoixrs 

in  seven  litres  of  bouillon  to  arrive  at  a  good  consomme.     Wb»*' 

ever  formula  may  be  adopted  for  the  liquid,  provided  it  is  lig^* 

and  delicate,  we  would  have  it  regarded  simply  as  a  vehicle  f^' 

herbal  flavour.    Contrast  a  soup  made  as  above  with  the  EngH**^ 

julienne  soup,  where  hard  slices  of  uncooked  carrots  are  left  ^ 

take  their  chance  in  a  g^vy  that  has  a  flavour  of  nothing  ^^^ 

coarse  meat,  and  you  have  a  comparison  which  must  perforce  I«*^ 

to  gastronomical  observation.     You  may  prefer  the  strong  gn»^/' 

but  in  that  case  your  palate  is  at  fault,  and  you  cannot  und^^ 

stand  herbal  flavour.     This  observation,  however,  affecting"  ^ 

it 


The  Kitchen  and  the  Cellar,  385 

It  does  the  science  of  the  cook  and  the  art  of  the  diner,  would 
not  be  just  without  the  accompanying  remark  ;  that  to  buy  at 
tlie  London  greengrocers'  good  fresh  young  vegetables  is  not 
such  an  easy  matter,  and  that,  to  make  a  reform,  it  is  necessary 
ttiat  the  market-gardener  should  aid  by  cultivating  and  bringing 
-to  Covent  Garden  what  is  young  and  tender  in  vegetable  life, 
3JQd  not  old  carrots  and  dry  turnips.  Still,  in  the  country  this 
.^SKCQse  for  the  cook  will  not  serve,  and  that  a  clean  herbal  soup 
Z3  possible  at  an  English  hotel  many  of  the  travellers  by  the 
^w^inter  coach  to  St.  Alban's  ('75— '76)  had  the  satisfaction  of 
finding  after  their  pleasant  outward  drive. 

If  we  were  called  on  to  give  instances  of  the  difficulty  of 
g^etting  julienne  soup  in  London,  it  would  only  be  necessary  to 
name  certain  clubs  where  ^  chefs  hors  ligne'  will  give  you  a 
*  bouillabaisse,'  or  a  pepper-pot,  '  quenelles  de  cailles  aux  trufies,' 
or  a  crab  curry  in  perfection,  but  scarcely  ever  succeed,  probably 
on  account  of  the  market-gardener,  in  presenting  you  with  the 
trae  julienne  soup  we  have  spoken  of. 

Mre  are  aware  that  our  recipe  fails  in  that  it  does  not  provide 
the  exact  weight  of  vegetables  to  the  proportion  of  consomme. 
^»  Dubost  (who,  by  the  way,  had  a  collection  of  china  and '  bric- 
&*brac,'  well  worth  the  attention  of  the  connoisseur)  assumed, 
no  doubt,  that  a  chef  with  any  knowledge  of  his  business  would 
^wajs  fairly  proportion  all  that#  enters  into  a  julienne  soup, 
^ut  to  the  English  cook  we  would  suggest  just  six  times  the 
quantity  of  vegetables  she  is  accustomed  to  provide  for  the  soup 
"*  question. 

If  we  pass  from  the  making  of  herbal  soup  to  a  consideration 

^f  the  ^  batterie  de  cuisine  '  placed  at  the  disposition  of  English 

^^^H>k8  in  modest  English  households,  we  shall  be  compelled  to 

^baerve  a  fatal  absence  of  copper.     Those  bright  stewpans  with 

^'*>'  neighbours  form  a  refreshing  sight  to  the  *  gourmet,'  however 

f^odest  the  ^  menage.'    Just  as  we  succeed  well  in  boiling  potatoes 

^y  means  of  a  quick,  roaring  fire  applied  to  an  iron  saucepan, 

^t^h  communicates  the  heat  to  the  water  quickly,  so  we  fail 

^  <<(m^ing  young  potatoes,  because  for  that  we  want  a  moderate 

•  ^^  and  a  copper  saucepan,  which  communicates  the  heat  slowly  ; 

^   other  words,  an  arrangement  that  does  not  readily  bum  the 

^^tents,  which  with  an  iron  saucepan,  in  the  absence  of  care, 

^*"^^tild  be  the  case. 

,^^  -And  here  it  is  only  just  that  we  should  draw  attention  to 
/l^^^offe,  his  plates,  and  his  woodcuts.  Of  course,  there  is  very 
j!;^%Ie  tiiat  is  absolutely  new  in  matter  of  recipes  for  dishes,  but 
^^^uffe  has  availed  himself  of  chromo-lithography  and  a  good 
'^^id-engraver  to  bring  home  to  us  some  precepts  that  ought  to 
ToL  143-— iV(?.  286.  2  c  receive 


386  Tlic  Kitclien  aiid  tlie  Cellar. 

receive  attention.    Note  particalarl j  the  design  for  a  range,  p.  2^  -« 
fig.  16,  where  we  have  a  roasting  arrangement  carefallj  out  (^-^ 
the  way,  whilst  still  under  the  supervision  of  the  cook ;  and  th^H 
proper  design  for  a  charcoal  grilling  apparatus,  which  wonlcr=-^ 
meet  a  want  greatly  felt  amongst  those  who  love  a  clean  grill 
Throughout  his  work  it  will  be  observed  that  GoufTe  incline 
to   well-tinned    copper    saucepans,    whilst  not    absolutely   dL 
carding  tinned-iron  pans,  and  at  the  same  time  he  sets  his  fa 
against  the  simple  cast-iron  pans  and  the  earthenware  vases  tha. 
have  for  so  long  maintained  their  place  in  many  French  house 
holds. 

Returning  to  the  grilling   apparatus  in  fig.  16  of  Gouffe' 
work,  we  shall  possibly  surprise  many  by  avowing  that,  in  oi 
opinion,  the  French  beat  us  as  much  in  this  respect  as  in  man_ 
others.      That  they  succeed  in  soups,  sauces,  and   entrees,  i 
undoubted,  and  copper  saucepans  go  for  much  therein ;  but  f( 
the  ^  cuisine  bourgeoise '  (household  cooking)  we  should  i 
grilling  as  the  point  where  they  are  more  entirely  succei 
than  we  arc.     Here  charcoal  or  '  braise '  (a  form  of  charcoal), 
the  fuel,  gives  the  French  cook  an  advantage.     It  enables  hi 
to  serve  up  fish,  flesh,  and  fowl,  cleanly  grilled,  not  smok 
flavoured,  and  the  sauce,  if  sauce  there  be,  has  nothing  to  i 
fere  with  its  due  appreciation.     The  English  cook,  as  a  rul< 


appeals  to  the  frying-pan  *  and  produces  her  cutlets,  ofte* 
sodden,  and  generally  tasteless,  with  small  idea  that  mee^ 
and  its  flavour  is  one  thing,  and  the  sauce  appropriate  to  ^k 
another.t  When  cutlets  have  been  cooked  in  this  fashion,  tlv.  * 
tenant  of  the  dining-room  learns  that  delicate  tender  mutt(^ 
exists  no  more  ;  leather,  for  all  practical  purposes  of  taste,  mij 
rcj)lace  it.  Vet  how  could  we  expect  an  English  cook  with  tb». 
ordinary  coal-fuel  range  to  have  a  bright  fire  just  ready  fi 
grilling  at  the  moment  when  the  entree  of  cutlets  should 
served  ?  The  charcoal  or  braise  embers,  being  a  contrivance 
apart,  are,  with  a  slight  use  of  the  bellows,  always  ready  for  ttz 


*  *  As  frj'inff  proprrly  in  fut  is  of  much  importance  and  of  coustant  usd  «>^ 
pains  hliould  l>e  8|>iirt'd  in  thoroughly  underetunding  it.    If  you  attempt  to  fry  *** 
too  low  a  temperature,  or  allow  the  temperature  to  full  more  than  five  degre^^* 
the  tilings  iiro  not  fried  hut  soakinl  iiud  soddcned,  und  of  a  dirty-white  colour. 
If  the  temperature  is  too  high,  then  the  thing  is  eharretl,  burnt,  und  blackcut-^t 
hut  not  fried.' — Buckmaster,  p.  112.     To  much  uneful  information  on  this  bet*" 
given  in  tho  above,  wo  may  odd  that  bee!-fat  is  better  for  frying  white-bsiit 
tlian  lard.    Mr.  Buckmaster  says  as  mucli,  thougli  not  in  special  terms:  'Lfti^ 
is  tlie  fat  generally  used  for  frying,  hut  it  is  liable  to  leave  an  unpleasant  flavour 
after  it.*  (P.  100.)    It  may  also  bo  added,  that  bifccuit-powder  is  infinitely  bett*  r 
than  brea<l-cruiub8  to  jxiner  cuth^ts. 

t  In  (Jouflfe's  work,  the  percentage  of  dishes  (fish,  flesh,  and  fowl),  th«'?5[r 
dientsof  which  pass  over  the  grill,  is  double  that  in  a  recent  English  cookeiy-b^' 


Tlie  Kiic/ien  and  the  Cellar.  387 

ill.     Speaking  not  dogmatically,  but  with  conviction,  we  place 
larcoal  or  braise,  as  a  grilling  element,  as  of  the  first  necessity 

a  range  where  due  justice  is  to  be  done  by  the  cook.  Nor 
n  we  believe  that  this  suggestion  is  one  necessarily  attended 
Lth  inordinate  expense.  It  sufiiceth  to  put — if  Goufie's  plan 
ove  mentioned  is  attended  with  difficulty — in  modern  close 
ages  a  fifteen-inch  square  g^te,  sunk  some  three  inches  below 
e  level  of  the  top,  with  a  regulator  for  the  draft  from  without,  so 
at  the  charcoal  or  braise  shall  burn  freely ;  and  we  venture  to 
Y  that  the  cost  of  the  charcoal  will  be  saved  in  the  butcher's 
11,  to  say  nothing  of  the  temper  of  the  master,  suffering 
ider  the  infliction  of  meat  wrongfully  bedabbled  in  cinders 
id  begrimed  with  coal-smoke  I  Let  it  be  taken  as  a  gastro- 
»mical  observation  of  supreme  importance  to  the  seeker  after 
linary  truth,  that  the  eminence  of  French  cookery  does  not 
3  solely  in  soups  or  sauces,  but  in  the  cleanliness  with  which 
»h,  flesh,  and  fowl  are  gprilled,  aided  by  the  perfectly-made 
lUces,  separately  cooked,  with  which  such  flesh  and  fowl  are 
irved.  Not,  however,  that  bread-crumbed  cutlets  are  always 
It  of  place,*  but  that  the  importance  of  clean  grilling  should 
3  more  clearly  recognised.  And  let  no  one  here  cite  the 
Ivantage  of  Dutch  ovens,  or  similar  contrivances,  for  avoiding 
«  coal-smoke.  They  are  aids  to  the  idle,  but  fail  in  the 
sential  application  of  direct  heat  and  oxygen  to  the  meat. 
t  course  clubs  and  large  establishments  can  afford   to   keep 

coke-grill  constantly  going,   and   to  them   coke  is  cheaper, 
>d,  well  kept  up,  as  effective  as  charcoal;  but  in  the  small 
bablishment  the  cook,  seeking  to  gprill,  is  confined  to  her  coal- 
^  and  such  use  as  she  may  make  of  it. 
In  many  small  details,  also,  the  ^  batterie  de  cuisine '  supplied 

the  English  cook  is  wanting ;  principally,  we  fancy,  in  the 
lall  tools  for  cutting  up  vegetables  and  herbs,  slicing  spinach, 
cumbers,  &c.  In  how  many  kitchens  do  you  find  a  sala- 
^nder,  that  excellent  French  invention  for  browning  a  dish 
tiiout  putting  it  into  the  oven,  in  order  to  obtain  the  same 
s>ult  at  the  price  of  its  juices  being  dried  up  ?  It  is  true  that 
>4  implement,  being  heavy,  suggests  sometimes  to  an  ignorant 
^hen-maid  that  it  must  be  there  for  the  purpose  of  breaking 
^ ;  but  does  not  ignorance,  in  some  form  or  other,  often  try 
f  patience,  and  are  we  thereby  to  be  discouraged  ? 
touching  the  general  question  of  butcher's  meat,  something 
Mt  be  said,  though  with  the  full  knowledge  that  it  will  be 
thout  effect  in  England.  The  ^  Chateaubriand,'  the  ^  entrecote,' 
d  the  ^  filet  mignon '  (of  mutton),  with  other  forms,  are  all  due 

the  more  enlarged  sympathies  of  the  French  butcher  for  what 

2  0  2  ia 


388  Tlie  Kitchen  and  the  Cellar. 

is  perfect.  We  must  entirely  change  the  mode  of  cutting  u 
the  carcase  before  we  can  arrive  at  the  same  perfection  in  fi 
of  meat  purchasable,  and  as  that  is  hopeless,  so  is  it  useless 
insist  further  on  the  subject  on  behalf  of  the  public.  To  tb 
country  gentleman  only,  who  may  have  some  control  over  thi 
village  butcher,  we  may  remark  that  very  clear-coloured  plate 
are  sold  in  France  at  a  moderate  price,  guided  by  which 
intelligent  and  willing  man  might  easily  produce  the  d 
forms  of  beef,  veal,  and  mutton. 

And  here,  again,  it  will  not  be  out  of  place  to  refer  to  Grouffe 
By  bringing  chromo-lithogpraphy  to  aid  him,  he  has  given 
two  plates  (II.  and  III.),  which  are  quite  unique  on  this  i 
portant  question  of  quality,  not  form,  of  meat.    Had  he  extend 
the  idea  to  the  interesting  question  of  herbs  he  would  hav 
rendered  us,  though,  perhaps,  not  his  countrymen,  an  impo: 


service.     The  fact  is,  French  cooks  and  French  gardeners  kno 
what  herbs  for  cooking  are.     A  friend  of  ours  happened  to 
in  a  country-house  the  other  day  where  there  was  much  sh< 
little  science,  and  a  large  garden  kept  up  at  great  expense, 
luncheon  he  volunteered  to  make  a  fresh  salad,  and  forthwi 
proceeded  to  the  garden  to  gather  his  materials.     He  desi: 
lettuce,  chervil,  tarragon,  and  borage.     The  first  he  found; 
the  others  the  head-gardener  knew  nothing  I 

M.  Jules  Goufie,  all-knowing,  has  not  known  enough; 
has  not  been  acquainted  with  the  ignorance  of  our  giu:deni 
and  our  cooks. 

Having  passed  the  stage  of  soup,  there  is  not  much'  of  i 
portance  to  be  said  until  we  come  to  the  vegetables.     The  fi 
in  England  is  infinitely  better  in  quality  and  better  coo 
than  can  be  obtained  elsewhere.     There  may  be  special  disbe- 
such   as   '  sole   a  la  Normande,'    or  the  Marseillaise   dish 
'  bouillabaisse,*   immortalised    by   Thackeray,    worthy  of  co: 
sideration,  but    they  are  not  essential  to  the    ^  bonne  cuisi 
bourgeoise,'  the  rather  because  the  constituents  of  this  last  can 
be  obtained  in  perfection,  save  on  the  shores  of  the  Medite 
ranean. 

Of  roast  meat,  be  it  beef  or  mutton,  we  can  hold  our 
with    any   nation ;    and   boiled    potatoes  are,  for   reasons  coi 
nected  with  our  extravagant  use  of  fuel,  and  our  iron  saucepai^ 
our  '  specialite.'    But  when  we  come  to  vegetables  in  general,  •* 
find  ourselves,  by  old  tradition,  cut  off  from  some  of  the 
economical  tasty  'plats'  the  French  housewife  will  give  us. 
with  us  is  rarely  cooked,  'cardons  a  la  mocUe'  are  unknown, 


•  A  spoonful  of  vinojrar  in  the  water  in  wLicli  fiah  is  boiled  is  tcarDelj 
fioicDtly  innistcd  on  in  English  cookcn-books. 


The  Kitchen  and  the  Cellar.  389 

tbe  same  with  ^  aubergines  farcies  ;'  and  ^  jets  d'houblon  auz  ceufs 
poches,'  one  of  the  *primeurs'  in  early  spring,  may  be  looked  for 
iQ  vain  at  an  English  table.     Perhaps  the  market-gardener  is 
at  fault  here  too.     In  any  case,  we  do  not  get  them ;  nor  will 
ttntravelled    English   understand    that   a    vegetable   should   be 
fcrvcd,  if  cooked,  as  a  *  plat,'  to  be  criticised  gastronomically  by 
Itself,  and  not  as  a  concomitant  or  accident,  if  we  may  so  ex- 
pi^ss  it,  to  more  solid  food.     Game,  again,  is  so  admirably 
f®r\'cd  at  English  tables,  that  there  are  few  new  ideas  to  import 
*n  xieference  to  it.     And  yet  there  is  a  bird  abroad  of  which  we 
shoixld  like  to  know  something  more.     We  have  never  found  it 
on  a.n  English  table,  and  but  once  was  it  on  our  path  in  culi- 
narjr  delectation  abroad,  and  then  we  passed  it  over  (possibly 
*n     error),  supposing   it  to   vary  but   little   from   its   English 
pi'ototype.     We  allude  to  the  Bohemian  pheasant     We  under- 
stand, on  good  authority,  that  this  bird  is  fat,  which  our  English 
phesuant  rarely  is ;  and  not  dry,  which  ours  often  is.     A  friend 
^"''ho    has  some   shooting   at  Boarstall  (traditionally  connected 
^"''itli  Edward  the  Confessor  and  Charles  I.),  on  the  borders  of 
Oxfordshire,  has  introduced  this  peculiar  bird  into  his  preserves  ; 
out  so  far  as  any  extra  flavour  goes,  he  tells  us  that  he  is  not 
*l>le  to  certify  to  it.    Possibly  the  food  in  the  forests  of  Bohemia 
^^^y  produce  different  results.     That  it  is  a  recognised  delicacy, 
a^d    commands  a  high  price  (20*.  a  pair),  in  Berlin,  is  un- 
doubted.    Our  friend,  somewhat  cynical,  but  possibly  correct, 
•^3'»,  that  the  fatness  of  pheasants  depends  on  the  method  of 
^^^^ding  them ;  in  fact,  he  assimilates  them  to  plain  fowls.     If 
>     we  desire  all  proprietors  of  pheasants  to  attend  to  their 
^»^t«,  in  the  interest  of  the  gastronomical  observer. 
If",  after  all,  one  is  obliged  to  adinit  that  in  Science  below- 
f^^ir«,  and  in  Art  in  the  dining-room,  the  English  are  wanting, 
^P^'V'    trifling  is  the  addition  required  to  put  the  English  family 
^^'^x^er  on  a  level  with  the  *  bonne  cuisine  bourgeoise,'  which 
deli^jjjjj  the  foreign  *  gourmet  I'    Rather  better-grown  vegetables 
^]^^xi.  the  market-gardener ;  a  habit  of  really  cooking  them  on 
^    ^     part  of  the  cook ;  a  weakening  of  the  strong  gravy-soup, 
*^     that   their   herbal   flavour    shall    not   be   overpowered ;    a 
^*^t^  of  charcoal,  whereby  viands  may  be  cleanly  grilled,  and 
*^**^«  small  instructions  as  to  how  vegetable  *  plats'  may  be  pro- 
P^l^  served,  and  with  the  best  fish  and  mutton  in  the  world, 
tae  English  can  give  a  really  refined  dinner.     For  we  beg  to 
^^•^ind  the  reader,  a  banquet  is  not  necessarily  a  refined  repast ; 
**^^  *  cotelettes  a  la  reforme,'  *  riz  de  veau  a  la  St.  Cloud,'  *  vol- 
a^'-vent  a  la  financiere,'  although  all  good  in  their  way,  do  not 
»^x*0:i  the  real  groundwork  for  gastronomical  observation.     This 

must 


390  The  Kitchen  and  the  Cellar. 

must  lie  for  every-day  work    in   simple  herbal  soups,  cl< 
cooked  meat,  and  delicate  vegetable  *  plats'  that  afford  room  fc 
extracting  the  subtle  essence  of  the  garden,  a  subtle  e88en< 
that  should  arrive  at  our  palate  by  herbs  also,  herbs  that  are 
much  undervalued  by  the  English  cook.     Parsley,  thyme, 
marjoram,  rosemary,  rue,  pennyroyal,  bay-leaf,  chervil,  garlic 
shalots,  truffles,  morels,  of  all  should  she  make  the  acquaintan< 
although  to  be  strictly  correct,  these  last  come  under  the  hi 
of  onions  and   roots   rather   than  of  herbs.     Mr.  Buckmastt        J  i 
insists  upon  their  use,  and  the  necessity  of  knowing  all  aboi 
them  ;  and,  we  repeat,  it  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  M. 
did  not  illustrate  them,  instead  of  giving  us  such  utterly  useh 
plates  (among  much  that  is  admirable)  as  those  devoted  to  tl 
arrangement  of  cray-fish,  the  nature  of  a  dessert-dish,  a  coi 
position  of  game  (frontispiece),  or  a  *  filet  de  bceuf  k  la  jardi 
niere,'  about  all  of  which  the  instructed  desire  to  know  nothing 
whilst  to  the  ignorant  they  convey  few  ideas. 

We  have  up  to  the  present  moment  referred  to  Gouffe,  of  tl*^ 
French  school,  and  to  Mr.  Buckmaster,  who  gave  some  lectures  i 
1873-74  at  the  International  Exhibition.  The  first  is  an  artij 
in  many  things  above  criticism ;  but  we  do  not  hesitate  to 
that  the  latter  has  given  one  direction  in  his  recipe  for  *  pot  a 
feu '  which  overrides  M.  Gouffe.  He  says,  in  his  *  precaution*^  -^^ 
*do  not  boil.'  Gouffe  at  one  point  says  *boil.'  We  understan  ^^"^ 
him  to  mean  only  for  the  purpose  of  taking  off  the  scum,  but  i^^^^ 
the  meantime  is  not  the  meat  ruined  ?  What  Mr.  Buckmast^^"  "^ 
says,  he  says  clearly,  although  from  the  stores  of  his  min- 
there  is  yet  much  unwritten.  Had  he  continued,  he  migl 
perhaps  have  put  in  print  those  two  recipes  which  we  lei 
through  a  friend  from  a  French  chef,  to  wit,  that  a  lump 
bread  about  the  size  of  a  French  billiard  ball  tied  up  in 
linen  bag,  and  inserted  in  the  pot  which  boils  greens  wi- 
absorb  the  gases  which  oftentimes  send  such  an  insupportabT 
odour  to  the  regions  above ;  the  other,  that  a  lump  of  brea- 
stuck  on  the  end  of  one  of  those  pointed  knives  used  in  tli — 
French  kitchen  will  prevent  your  eyes  being  affected,  if  you 
peeling  onions  with  the  said  knife. 

And  beyond  the  operations  in  the  kitchen,  a  great  interej 
attaches  to   the  store-room    and  the    larder.     There  are  *hoi 
d'cruvre,'  cold  as  well  as  hot,  about  which  much  may  be  saic:^ 
some    being   at   their    best    in    one    season,    some    at    anotbc 
Cheeses,  again,  present  an  endless  field  of  observation  for 
gastronomer,  although,  perchance,  he  may  end  by  finding  fe' 
planets  in  that  orbit.     Some  man  addicted  to  this  preparatic^ 
of  milk  declared  that  after  once  tasting,  we  think  it  was  eith^ 


\t^. 


The  Kitchen  and  the  Cellar.  391 

3font  d'Or  or  Strachino,  he  wandered  about  Europe  after  a 
phantom  cheese.  If  we  recollect  rightly,  he  avowed  that  a  g^od 
Camembert  had  a  ghostly  resemblance  to  it ;  but  if  we  mistake 
not,  he  had  not  made  the  acquaintance  of  Malakoff,  a  cream- 
cheese  fabricated  in  Normandy.  Certain  it  is  that  Strachino  is 
'too  rare ;  and  as  for  Camembert,  the  curious  thing  is  that  you 
^neet  with  it  in  far  better  condition  in  London  or  Brussels 
'than  in  Paris.  As  to  our  old  English  cheeses,  Stilton, 
Cheshire,  North  Wilts,  say  even  that  goodly  cream-cheese  that 
in  the  days  of  our  youth  we  tasted  somewhere  near  Fountain's 
^Abbey,  where  are  they  ?  Do  large  dealers  buy  them  up  for 
St  Petersburg  and  Moscow  *  marchands  de  comestibles '  who  are 
:Y^gardless  of  price  ?  We  cannot  deny  that  we  have  met  with 
clem  in  those  cities  far  better  in  quality  than  such  as  we  have 
c^lianced  to  buy  in  the  best  shops  in  London. 

Forget  not  too,  O  learner  in  this  field  of  knowledge !  to  pick 
Lip  any  happy  thoughts  that  may  occur  to  your  host  after  you  are 
seated;  such,  for  instance,  as  that  which  occurred  to  a  well- 
cnown  artist  of  our  acquaintance.  He  had  invited  a  friend  to 
t  beef-steak  at  the  A-Club.  The  steak  was  served,  when  he 
>etliought  him  to  inquire,  sotto  voce^  if  there  was  a  clove  of 
rarlic  in  the  house.  There  was ;  it  was  brought ;  he  simply 
the  knife  through  it,  nothing  more,  and  surprised  his 
t  with  the  most  delicate  form  of  that  unique  flavour  which 
te   prince  of  the  onion  family  can  alone  give. 

^^iefore  we  pass  on  to  the  consideration  of  wines,  we  think 
"a-"t  something  more  than  a  slight  reference  should  be  made  to 
^  institution  that  has  sprung  up  of  late  years,  one  calculated  to 
^  GLXL  unmixed  good  to  our  people,  whether  at  home  or  in  the 
clonics ;  we  mean  the  National  Training  School  for  Cookery. 

*^«?Te  is  scarcely  anything  the  Englishman  likes  so  well  as 
^*^^^  and,  doubtful  about  the  future,  he  will  hesitate  to  permit 
J^  idea  to  take  root  with  him  unless  it  is  backed  up  by  some- 
^**^^  like  success.  To  such  we  call  attention  to  the  last  Report 
^  t^lae  Executive  Committee  of  this  school.  It  is  not  brilliant ; 
^  ^CDes  not  show  that  those  who  first  started  it  have  made  either 
^*^^>wn  or  money ;  but  it  shows  that  very  serious  ignorance 
^^>iigst  many  classes  is  being  lessened  by  the  persistent  efforts 
J  ^  few  gentlemen  and  a  sensible  staff.  In  any  case,  the  good 
I  ^J'"  have  done  cannot  be  measured  by  their  Report,  because 
r^^3^  can  give  no  account  of  the  unceasing  spread  of  interest  in 
^^^  art  from  the  pupil-teacher  to  the  pupil  in  London  and  the 
^^^^•1  schools,  and  from  pupils  to  pupils  friends  and  acquaint- 
j^^^^is.     In  the  twelvemonth  ending  the  31st  of  March,  1876, 

^^S  pupils  passed  through  the  school,  twelve  gained  diplomas 


392  Tlie  Kitchen  and  the  Cellar. 

as  teachers,  and  nineteen  more  were  In  training  for  that  state  of 
life.  We  understand  that  the  Report  for  the  present  year  wU^ 
show  an  increase  of  something  like  400,  1734  pupils  having 
passed  for  the  first  ten  months,  of  whom  fifty-four  have  gained 
diplomas  as  teachers. 

The  number  of  local  schools   has  increased  from  eight    in 
1876  to  twenty-nine  at  the  present  time : — 

There  are  now  at  work  the  following  classes : — 

(a.)  Those  who  learn  practically  cleanliness,  which  is  of  the 
first  importance  in  cookery,  and  attend  practical  demonstratioo^ 

(i.)  A  practical  kitchen,  where  students  themselves  practi** 
cooking  suitable  for  families  which  spend  from  20«.  to  lOO'* 
weekly  in  the  purchase  of  food  to  be  cooked. 

(c.)  An  artisan  kitchen,  where  students  especially  intend^^ 
as  teachers  practise  cooking  for  artisan  families  which  spex^^ 
from  Is.  to  20«.  weekly  in  the  purchase  of  food  to  be  cooked. 

{d,)  A  course  of  practical  teaching  for  students  who  are  i*^ 
training  as  teachers. 

When  we  had  the  pleasure  of  visiting  the  school  a  few  wc^l^* 

ago,  without  any  notice  on  our  part,  we  found  in  the 

kitchen  a  dozen  young  girls  who  had  been  brought  from  wi 

schools  in  the  City  by  the  past  and  present  Masters  of  the  Qool^^^ 

Company,  at  the  expense  of  the  latter.     They  were  being  taugt*  * 

by  a  most  intelligent  and  energetic  young  Isuly.     In  the  demo**'' 

stration  kitchen  we  found  a  number  of  ladies  taking  notes    ^^\ 

the  practical  lessons  most  lucidly  given  by  one  of  the  staff;  a«»^ 

in   the  practice  kitchen  we  saw    many  estimable  as    well     ^-^ 

charming  young  ladies,  some  qualifying  themselves  as  teache«'^"» 

others  to  be  something  better  than  the  lazy  delights  of  their  p^^^ 

sent  or  future  homes.     Cleanliness — a  most  important  elemc^^ 

in  the  kitchen — seemed  to  be  practised  everywhere.     The  gi: 

brought  in  by  the  liberality  of  the  Cooks'  Company  were, 

this  their  twelfth  lesson,  already  competing  for  practice  wi 

each  other    in    the   composition    of  many  sensible    househo*** 

dishes,  and  what  they  had  prepared  was  to  our  taste  excelle^^*^* 

The  course  of  practical  training  for  the  teachers  appears  to    ^-^^ 

most  complete  in  form,  though  scarcely  long  enough  inpractio^? 

and    the   only    criticism    on    the    methods  pursued  we  show-l^ 

venture  to  offer  is  that  they  should  not  keep  the  knowled^^ 

that  may  be  imparted  entirely  within  the  limits  of  what  Xlk^f 

can  do  at  the  schools   with  its   means    and    appliances.     FV?^ 

instance,    they    make   a    most    excellent    and  clear  consom0>^ 

on   economical  principles,   that    is,   they  manage  without  tb^ 

chicken.     But  many  of  that  bevy  of  fair  girls  will  have  th^ 

management  of  households  where  the  cost  of  a  fowl  would  wt^ 

he 


I 


The  Kitchen  and  the  Cellar.  393 

question.  It  is  a  pity  that  these  should  go  away  with  the 
that  they  have  attained  perfection  in  a  consomme,  which 
now  cannot  be  done  without  the  use  of  fowls.  As  the  views 
e  Executive  Committee  were  not  explained  to  us  on  this 
t,  we  write  rather  suggestively  than  critically.  To  us  it 
s  that  the  best  means  of  making  important  dishes  should 
)inted  out,  although  it  might  be  a  useless  extravagance  to 
ipt  to  prepare  them  practically  at  the  school.  We  may  also 
rk  that  receipts  do  not  mean  recipes.  Strict  English  is 
tial  in  a  National  School. 

is  very  fortunate  that,  at  last,  the  importance  of  cookery 
lucation  has  been  acknowledged  in  the  revised  and  re- 
ed code,  but  the  Lords  of  the  Committee  of  Council  on 
ation  might  well  be  asked  to  assist  the  National  School  of 
ery  by  some  further  practical  steps  in  the  same  direction, 
lo  not  say  that  we  should  go  so  far  as  the  Executive  Com- 
e  in  asking  that  it  should  be  recognised  by  the  State,  if  by 
is  meant  a  demand  for  a  subsidy  ;  but  we  do  most  thoroughly 
*se  their  claim  to  train  teachers  for  the  use  of  the  Council 
ducation  at  such  rate  of  fees  as  shall  assist  in  the  current 
ises,  and  encourage  the  Executive  Committee  to  pursue 
good  work.  Some  one,  at  any  rate,  must  produce  these 
ers,  whether  it  be  in  music  or  cookery ;  and  if  this  school 
its  work  well,  as,  indeed,  we  think  it  does,  they  have 
'  claim  to  be  the  means  whereby  sound  principles  of  cook- 
ihall  be  spread  over  the  country.  On  one  point  we  cer- 
f  think  the  Executive  Committee  of  this  school  are  right  to 
that,  in  place  of  the  annual  grant  of  4«.  per  scholar,  now 
d  in  the  revised  code  for  food  and  clothing  combined,  the 
may  be  divided  into  two  equal  parts,  giving  2«.  for  each 
ct,  and  that  a  specially  qualified  inspector  should  be 
inted  to  look  to  the  interests  of  cooking.  Indeed,  the 
ent  you  admit  that  cooking  is  essential  to  the  true  educa- 
)f  an  Englishwoman,*  that  moment  you  create  the  necessity 
lalities  in  an  inspector  not  always  found  (with  a  present 
»tion  in  the  London  district)  in  clever  Oxford  and  Cam- 
e  men ;  and  with  a  division  in  the  grant  we  should  be 
led  to  beg  their  Lordships  to  consider  whether  a  young  girl 
d  not  go  through  her  course  of  cookery  in  her  last  year 
id  of  in  the  first  year  of  the  fourth  standard.  Much  tech- 
knowledge  picked  up  at  the  age  of  twelve  and  thirteen, 
lot  kept  up,  is  forgotten  at  fifteen  or  sixteen ;  and  it  would 

Doe  this  was  in  type  we  understand  that  the  School  Board  of  Aberdeen 
lemorialiBCrd  their  Lordships  in  the  sense  of  these  obeeryations. 

be 


394  The  Kitchen  and  t/ie  Cellar. 

be  of  infinite  advantage  to  a  young  girl  thrown  on  her  own 
resources,  and  wishing  perhaps  to  go  into  service,  to  be  able  to 
say,  even  at  that  age,  to  a  lady  seeking  help,  *  I  have  come 
straight  out  of  the  cookery  classes.'  If  we  might  venture  to 
throw  out  another  suggestion  to  their  Lordships  in  the  interest 
of  cooking,  it  would  be  that  twenty  lessons  of  three  hours  each 
would  do  more  for  a  girl  than  the  very  bare  limit  of  *  two  hours 
a  week,  and  forty  hours  in  the  year.'  The  result  of  many  dishes 
cannot  be  given  in  two  hours ;  and  if  we  were  to  judge  by  the 
young  girls  sent  by  the  Cooks'  Company  from  the  ward  schools, 
who  managed  to  have  a  three  hours'  lesson,  we  should  deem 
that  it  was  not  school-work  from  their  point  of  view,  but  a  verj 
pleasant  occupation.     Such  girls  will  turn  out  good  cooks. 

The  Cooks'  Company,  although  not  a  rich  corporation,  have 
come  forward  in  this  matter  in  a  practical  fashion  demanding 
every  acknowledgment.  Nor  must  the  praiseworthy  action  of 
the  Council  of  the  Society  of  Arts  be  overlooked,  for  they^ 
iiavc  given  during  the  last  two  years  five  free  scholarships  of 
10/.  10s.  each  to  be  competed  for,  and  we  commend  the  idea 
to  those  wealthy  persons  who  desire  to  perpetuate  their  name  hy 
a  most  practical  form  of  benevolence — a  cosmopolitan  bene- 
volence that  tends  to  the  comfort  and  well-being,  not  to  say 
civilisation,  of  the  English  race. 

We  have  criticised  freely  English  cooking,  and  we  have  pur- 
sued, in  a  line  which  ought  to  satisfy  any  friend  of  reform,  the 
shortcomings  amongst  us ;  but  we  do  not  ignore  the  thoroughlv 
good  and  quaintly  superb  simplicity  of  dinners  sent  up  liroffl 
time  to  time  in  this  country.  A  friend  of  ours  was  returning 
from  Paris  with  two  young  companions  (so  many  years  ago  that 
they  made  the  journey  to  Calais  by  '  diligence '),  when  at  Dover 
they  got  into  a  railway  carriage  with  an  elderly  gentleman.  The 
talk  turned  much  on  the  restaurants  they  had  visited,  to  which 
the  elder  one  listened  long  and  with  much  patience.  At  length 
he  said,  '  Well,  gentlemen,  1  am  going  to  have  a  dinner  to-night 
that  no  restaurateur  in  Paris  can  beat,  and  it  is  thorougUj 
English.'  Our  friends  opened  their  eyes  and  their  ears,  fresh  «• 
they  were  from  the  Frcres  Provenqaux  and  Philippe's.  *  I  ^^ 
going,  gentlemen,  to  have  simply  four  dishes,  not  one  of  which 
could  you  get  in  perfection  in  Paris ;  to  wit,  turtle  soup,  turbot 
and  lobster  sauce,  a  haunch  of  venison,  and  a  grouse  1'  Our 
friends,  young  as  they  were,  had  the  good  tsiste  to  incline  thejr 
heads  before  the  mention  of  such  a  truly  royal  repast.  y[^ 
use  the  term  royal  advisedly,  for  we  understand  that  a  certain 
personage,  whose  example  must  always  do  much  in  this  kingd^'^^ 
persistently  sets  his  face  against  elaborate  and  vulgar  menus. 

Passim; 


Tlie  Kitchen  and  the  Cellar.  395 

ssing  now  to  matters  of  libation,  we  must,  as  in  the  case  of 
;,  go  to  France,  or  rather  to  the  mode  of  living  there,  with  a 
ne  cuisine  bourgeoise,'  if  we  would  be  instructed  what  we 
d  drink  at  dinner.  We  except  breakfast,  even  a  French 
'  a  la  fourchette ; '  for  hath  not  Brillat-Savarin  given  his  fiat 
v'our  of  tea,  and  can  there  be  a  cleaner,  wholesomer  drink, 
I  like  it,  in  the  wide  world  ?  But,  for  dinner,  if  we  would 
our  palate  clean,  let  us  stick  to  Bordeaux  or  Burgundy, 
or  without  water,  according  to  its  quality ;  water  for  the 
,  absence  of  it  for  the  higher  growths.  Of  course,  for  those 
think  that  strong  gravy  or  mock-turtle,  and  hot  sherry  or 

Madeira  form  a  fitting  beginning  for  their  repast,  gas- 
mical  observation  of  this  kind  is  thrown  away.  It  is 
ite  flavour  in  soup  that  makes  Bordeaux  possible ;  and 
the  palate  has  not  been  destroyed  by  fiery  sherry,  a  glass 
ifitte  or  Chambertin  can  be  as  well  appreciated  with  a 
e  of  mutton,  as  after  dinner  with  the  olives.  If  you  insist 
bite  wine,  take  Sauteme  of  a  low  growth  (the  higher 
ths,  like  Chateau  d'Yquem,  are  only  fit,  like  Rauenthaler- 

for  dessert),  or  Chablis,  if  Burgundy  is  your  drink  for 
lay.  Never  put  Bordeaux  and  Burgundy  on  the  table  the 
day ;  they  are  distinct  classes  of  wine,  and  are  to  be  sipped 
fferent  days  of  the  week.  It  is  one  of  the  gravest  errors, 
o  the  passion  for  thick  soups,  fiery  sherry,  and  hot  sauces, 
good  wine  (by  good  we  mean  first  and  second  growth 
'a)  cannot  be  appreciated  until  after  dinner.  As  a  gas- 
mical  (drinking)  observation,  it  may  be  taken  that  the 
Tsal  introduction  of  red  wines  during  dinner  is  as  important 
le  improvement  of  the  palate  as  the  amelioration  of  soups, 
d  wines  should  always  be  taken  out  of  the  cellar,  and  kept 
le  kitchen  or  butler's  pantry  some  hours  before  they  are 
k.  They  should  never  be  placed  before  the  fire,  but  allowed 
come  warm  gradually.  The  temperature  of  the  wine  should 
nearly  as  possible  the  temperature  of  the  dining-room.  In 
ench  family  with  which  we  were  acquainted,  it  was  the 
ice  to  take  from  the  cellar  every  Monday  morning  the 
eaux  required  for  the  week's  consumption,  and  to  keep  it  in 
»board  in  the  salle-a-manger,  so  that  the  family  might  have 
mday  their  wine  in  the  most  perfect  condition.  How  often 
e  find  on  English  tables  the  finer  growths  of  claret  unfit  to 
:,  simply  because  they  have  been  brought  from  the  cellar 
an  hour  or  two  before  dinner,  and  then  left  in  a  cold  place, 
posed  to  a  draught  I  Clarets  of  a  third,  or  even  a  fourth 
th,  judiciously  warmed,  will  taste  infinitely  better  than  the 
;  Chateau-Lafitte  or  Chateau-Marg^ux  taken  directly  from 

even 


396  Tlie  Kitchen  and  the  Cellar. 

even  the  best  cellar.     These  remarks  apply  especially  to  red 
wines  of  the  Bordeaux  district.     Belgian  connoisseurs  do  not 
approve  of  bringing  up  Burgundy  from  its  cellar  (the  tempera- 
ture of  which  should  be  low)  until  shortly  before  use.     We  hare 
heard    Englishmen   dispute    this    view   in   faTOur   of  greater 
warmth,  but  we  think  the  Belgians  know  too  much  about  this 
wine  not   to  have  their  opinions   treated   with  great  respect. 
Burgundy,  indeed,  is  so  delicate  a  wine  that  an  experiment,  ict 
bottling  some  from  the  same  cask  into  clear  and  opaque  bottles^ 
and  putting  them  in  the  same  dark  cellar,  proved  that  a  marked 
difference  was  presented  at  the  end  of  a  twelvemonth  as  against 
the  clear  bottles. 

*'  Here  is  an  article  called  '^  Champagne  as  a  social  farce,"'  saic9 
a   friend,  glancing   superficially  at  the   list   of  contents  of  ^ 
*  magazine '  one  day.     Alas !  on  examining  it  we  found  that  as  ^ 
social  force  was  the  use  of  this  liquid  to  be  praised  instead  of,  a^ 
we  had  hoped,  deprecated.     It  was  a  paper  addressing  itself  tc3r 
prove  that  Britons  require  vinous  carbonic  acid  to  make  then* 
cheerful ;  as  if  some  generations,  comprising  some  tolerably  gooS 
names  on  the  roll  of  intellect,  had   not   passed   throa|^  lif^* 
without  obtaining  their  ideas  from  this  frothy  liquid  I     Wbev 
champagne  was  first  brought  into  use  it  was  a  sweet,  Insrioos^ 
wine,   fit    and     agreeable    to    be    taken,    as    it    ought    to  be* 
taken,  when  an  'entremet,'  also  sweet,  renders  the  palate  \o^ 
obscrv'ant  of  its  saccharine  quality,  but  utterly  nauseous  wheiK 
drunk  with  leg  of  mutton.     Then  came  the  cry  for  a  dry  awl 
drier  wine ;  and  as  the  liquor  is  as  much  fabricated  as  soda-^ 
water,  and  as  little  natural,  the  wine-merchants  were  not  dow  t(r 
accommodate  their  customers  with  a  wine  which,  analysed,  i^ 
pretty  much  this — a  poor,  thin,  white  wine,  impregnated  witl» 
'  fixed  air,'  and  sometimes  a  good,  more  often  a  very  bad  and 
inferior,  liqueur.    The  well-known  Brussels  restaurateur,  already' 
quoted,  gave   to  it  (the   English  mark)  the  appropriate  titl^ 
of  '  grog  mousseux,'  sparkling  grog ;  and  we  are  told  to  regan* 
it  as  a   necessity  for  social  liveliness,    and    a  youngster  fn^ 
Eton,  whom  you  invite  to  dinner,  thinks  himself  badly  used  i'^ 
he  does   not  get  it!     But  with  champagne,  as   in  everythiop 
connected  with  taste,  we  act  as  though  no  permanent  roles  o* 
Art  existed.     We  catch  by  a  fluke  of  fashion  some  truths,  wbi^^ 
vulgarity,  the  imitator  of  fashion,  seizes  and  distorts.     In  <*^ 
age  classical  architecture  is  the  rage,  and  leaves  us  some  i^ 
exquisite  monuments,  much  that  is  bad,  and  Grecian  portico^ 
sadly  out  of  place ;  then  the  medieval  fashion  overtakes  us,  ^ 
after  giving  us  many  fine  examples  of  what  is  true  and  beaotifo'' 
lands  us  in  a  fog  of  unmeaning  shapes,  and,  because  it  is  tb^ 

fashioo* 


The  Kitchen  and  the  Cellar.  397 

hioD,  pervades  our  furniture  until  purity  of  form  ceases  to 
st  In  wines  Providence  presents  us  with  a  good  article, 
hion  brings  it  into  vogue,  and  vulgarity  debases  it,  until  we 
i?e  at  an  unwholesome  drug  under  the  name  of  champagne, 
ter  a  generation  of  stomachs  have  been  ruined,  and  the  pre- 
!ent  fashion  of  early  and  perpetual  pick-me-ups  (due  in  a 
ge  measure  to  over-night  absorption  of  ^  grog  mousseux ')  has 
m  recognised  by  the  faculty  as  fatal  to  our  physique,  fashion 
U  change ;  it  will  become  vulgar  to  give  champagne,  and  the 
machs  of  Englishmen  shall  again  have  some  peace,  and  their 
ate  be  encouraged  towards  rightful  drinks, 
^d  it  is  not  in  the  unnatural  quality  of  champagne  that  we 
[1  the  only  effects  of  fashion.  Sherry  is  manipulated  abroad 
1  at  home.  This  is  what  an  ex-wine  merchant,  who  esta- 
shed  a  firm  by  the  delicacy  of  his  palate,  says  in  a  letter  to 
on  the  subject : — 

'  During  my  long  experience  I  fomid  that  a  '*  mn  "  upon  any  par- 
nlar  wine,  or  class  of  wine,  generally  followed  the  introduction  of 
DeUiing  superior  to  the  ordinary  ''  wines  of  commerce." 
^For  example;  within  the  last  thirty  years  repeated  attempts  have 
311  made  to  form  a  pure  taste  for  sherry  amongst  connoisseurs  who 
lid  afford  to  pay  for  what  they  could  appreciate.  This  could  of 
use  only  be  done  by  importing  very  old  and  valuable  wine  with 
)  smallest  possible  amount  of  brandy.  For  such  wines  I,  and  of 
one  very  many  other  wine  merchants,  have  paid  150Z.  to  2002.  per 
tt  in  Cadiz  Bay.  Of  course  such  wines  soon  gained  a  reputation 
longst  the  class  of  consumers  for  whom  they  were  intended ;  and 
so,  also  of  course,  attempts  were  made  by  a  host  of  wine  merchants 
introduce  a  similar  wine  for  general  consumption.  This  led  to 
<ry  possible  system  of  adulteration,  because  the  wine  in  its  genuine 
^  was  fSur  too  costly  for  any  such  purpose.  Thus  from  time  to 
9  newspapers  were  full  of  advertisements  about  "  Natural  Sherry," 
loxne  other  name  given  to  a  cheap  imitation  of  a  costly,  pure, 
delicious  wine.  At  one  time  I  remember  an  advertisement  of 
•kod  Sherry"  at  30«.  per  dozen,  about  which  I  made  a  sorry 
I  was  asked  why  it  was  so  called,  and  I  said  because  no  decent 
^  C30uld  be  sold  at  the  price.  All  that  I  have  said  about  sherry 
^^«  to  most  other  wines,  perhaps  more  particularly  to  champagne. 
-1^  dry  champagne,  I  mean  genuinely  dry  wine,  can  only  be  had 
^  a  vintage  has  been  exceptionally  fine.  In  such  rare  cases 
BV'ine  can  be  prepared  with  scarcely  any  admixture  of  liqueurs, 
K'^eas  in  ordinary  vintages  the  wine  en  hrtU  is  not  only  unpalatable, 
^Ijsolntely  nauseous.  Now,  as  very  fine  vintages  do  not  frequently 
>^>  pure  dry  champagne  is  a  very  costly  beverage.  Notwith- 
iding  this,  according  to  the  advertisements,  and  to  wine  merchants' 
ci^ilars,  you  may  have  champagne  dry  or  sweet,  year  after  year,  at 
^  Bame  price.    Create  a  demand  for  anything,  and  there  will  be  a 

supply. 


398  The  Kitchen  and  the  Cellar. 

supply.  The  supply  of  gennine  wine,  as  of  oyerj  other  article  of 
consumption,  is  not  nnlimited ;  and  the  increased  demand  fi)r  cheap 
wines  can  only  be  met  by  deception  and  fraud.' 

As  to  the  attempts  of  certain  analysts  to  describe  in  scientific 
terms  the  value  of  a  wine,  they  are  more  than  fatile,  thej  are 
pernicious,  because  they  lead  the  ignorant  astray.     ^  Bouquet,' 
as  well  as  alcohol,  has  something  to  do  with  the  quality  of  a. 
wine.     Both  may  be  added  in  place  of  being  natural.    Some- 
times a  connoisseur  in  Bordeaux  will  be  offered  in  a  restaurant  3* 
wine  redolent  of  the  violet  flavour  peculiar  to  some  wines  of  st 
good  grawth  in  the  Gironde.     He  notices  on  the  wine-carte  tha.*^ 
the  price  is  a  third  of  what  he  would  pay  a  respectable  wine- 
merchant  for  such  wine,  and  if  he  drinks  a  fair  bottle  of  it  h^ 
learns  on  the  morrow  that  the  nose  has  deceived  the  stomacL 

What  future  and  increased  knowledge  of  methods  of  analysis 
may  do  as  to  '  bouquet '  is  a  separate  question.  At  present,  by^ 
the  lights  we  have,  a  knowledge  of  the  trade,  and  a  certaio 
respectability  on  the  part  of  its  members,  will  be  a  greater 
guarantee  to  the  seeker  after  good  wine  than  any  number  ^t 
laboratories,  used  too  often  more  in  the  interests  of  advertising* 
firms  than  in  the  interests  of  the  seeker  after  exact  palate-and— 
stomach-value. 

In  '  Le  Cuisinier  Royal,'  by  Viart,  homme  de  bouche,  Paria^ 
1837,  there  is  to  be  found,  as  an  Appendix  to  the  fifteenth  edition ^ 
a  '  Notice  on  Wines,'  by  M.  Pierrhugues,  the  King's  butler,  and 
the  order  of  ser\'ing  them,  by  Grignon,  one  of  the  well-knowta 
restaurateurs  of  that  day.     We  observe  that  it  has  been  copied 
without    acknowledgment   by   the   authoress  of  the  *  Noureati 
Manuel  de  la  Cuisiniere  Bourgeoise,'  Paris,  1869,  so  we  presume 
that  in  French  eyes  it  is  deemed  of  some  worth.     We  merely 
refer  the  curious  reader  to  it,  preferring  to  take  as  our  guide  th^ 
instructive  '  Essay  on  Cheap  Wines '  by  our  own  countryman^ 
Dr.  Druitt,   whose  professional  science  and  clean  palate  have 
enabled  him  to  give  us  invaluable  wine-truths.     It  is  true  that 
we  are  at  issue  with  Dr.  Druitt  as  to  the  good  or  bad,  or,  as  he 
puts  it,  indifferent  matter  of  drinking  many  varieties  of  wine  at 
the  same  repast,  because  we  consider  it  decidedly  injurious ; 
but  with  this  exception,  and  some  slight  allusion  to  a  frequently 
careless  composition  in  a  literary  sense,  we  can  freely  endors^ 
the  views  of  the  learned  doctor.     Rarely  has  so  much  usefc* 
and  trustworthy  information  on  the  known  wines  of  commerc^ 
been  given  to  the  public  in  so  compendious  a  form.     We  would 
particularly  recommend  to  our  readers  his  remarks  on  Bordeaux 
and  sherry : — 


The  Kitchen  and  the  Cellar.  390 

'It  will  be  a  good  day  for  the  morals,  health,  and  intellectual 
0?elopment  of  the  Engliish  when  every  decent  person  shall  on  all 
ospitable  occasions  be  able  to  prodace  a  bottle  of  wine  and  discuss 
B  flavour  J  instead  of,  as  at  present,  glorying  in  the  strength  of  his 
Dtoitions.  One  thing  that  would  go  with  the  greater  use  of  Bordeaux 
dne  would  be  the  custom  of  drinking  it  in  its  proper  place  during 
inner  as  a  refreshing  and  appetizing  draught,  to  entice  the  languid 
ikkte  to  demand  an  additioniEkl  slice  of  mutton.' 

«  «  «  «  « 

• 

'Now  for  sherry y  under  which  term  are  included,  in  popular  Ian- 
oage,  all  the  white  wines  which  come  from  Spain,  and  others  like 
biem.  Monotony  and  base  servile  imitation  are  the  curse  of  English 
ife.  .  .  .  .  The  fish,  entries,  &c.,  must  be  accompanied  with  the 
levitable  sherry.  All  the  fun,  and  the  fragrance,  the  gratified  sense 
f  novelty,  the  curiosity  as  to  the  great  poUtical  and  social  fortunes 
f  our  colonies,  which  would  be  excited  by  handing  round  a  bottle  of 
Ute  Auldana ;  all  the  sympathy  for  our  dear  neighbours  which. 
oold  be  excited  by  the  taste  of  Meursault  Blanc ;  all  the  respect  for 
6  Grennans  which  would  follow  a  sip  of  Hochheimer ;  all  the  hopes 
d  fears  felt  for  the  Austrian  empire,  which  would  go  round  with 
9  generous  Yoslau,  are  smothered  by  the  monotony  of  the  banal 
btj:^.  When  people  are  doing  the  serious  act  of  dining,  they  should 
ity  and  think  about  it,  and  talk  about  it ;  but  to  talk  there  must  be 
relty,  not  one  dull  perpetual  round,  and  sherry  gives  rise  to  no 
AS.     England  will  never  be  merry  again  whilst  it  sticks  to  so  sad  a 

♦  ♦  .      ♦  ♦  ♦ 

The  best  account  of  cherry  is  that  given  before  the  Committee  of 
>  l=Couse  of  Commons  on  the  Import  Duties  on  Wines  in  1852,  by 
•  Oorman,  Physician  to  the  late  British  Factory  at  Cadiz,  long  a 
tid^ent  in  Spain.  He  says  that  no  natural  sherry  comes  ^  this 
n^try;  it  is  all  mixed  and  brandied.  The  quantity  of  proof  spirit 
doh  good  pure  sherry  contains  by  nature  is  24  per  cent.,  possibly  80. 
16  less  mature  and  less  perfectly  fermented  the  wine,  the  more 
M^y  is  there  added  to  it  to  preserve  it.  Yet  let  it  never  be  for- 
>tten^  Dr.  Gorman  added,  "  It  is  not  necessary  to  infuse  brandy  into 
•I  toeU^^made  sherry  wine ;  if  the  fermentation  is  perfect^  it  products 
«*o|  sufficient  to  preserve  the  wine  for  a  century  in  any  country ^ ' 

'MI  this  and  much  more  that  Dr.  Druitt  has  said  is  pleasing 
od  trustworthy,  because  there  is  little  appearance  of  a  wine- 
^crchant's  element  in  the  background.  We  will  add  only  one 
ttore  extract  in  reference  to  the  flavour  and  odour  of  wines : — 

*  The  organs  of  taste  and  smell  stand  as  sentinels  to  watch  the 
:Pp]X)aches  to  the  stomach,  and  to  warn  us  whether  our  food  and 
^^^  are  fit  to  be  admitted  or  not.  There  are  some  articles  respecting 
'Mch  these  organs  are  not  entirely  to  be  relied  upon ;  but  certainly 
^  Regards  wine,  the  effects  of  wine  on  the  palate  arq  known  with 

exactitude, 


400  The  Kitchen  and  the  Cellar. 

exactitude,  and  the  palate  is  able  to  distingaish  wines  wliicb  arc 
wholesome  from  those  that  are  not. 

^Let  us  obserre  that  touch  is  common  to  all  parts  of  the  body  in 
greater  or  less  degree,  but  is  especially  acute  in  the  fingertips,  Hps, 
and  tongue.  This  takes  cognisance  of  certain  qualities,  sooh  tsbot 
and  cold,  rough  and  smooth,  hard  and  soft,  and  the  like.  TiuU  is  a 
more  delicate  sense,  and  distinguishes  properties  such  as  sweet,  boot, 
bitter,  and  salt,  together  with  a  thousand  other  Tarieties  which  have 
no  name,  though  we  well  know  them  when  presented  to  us. 

'  There  is  a  third  sense  which  recognises  odours,  and  upon  wUch 
they  particularly  operate,  of  course  I  mean  the  nose.  Now  eteiy- 
thing  that  is  tasted  must  affect  the  sense  of  touch,  and  the  nnion  of 
both  touch  and  taste  may  be  essential  to  perfect  enjoyment;  {htf, 
the  crispness  or  flabbiness  of  a  biscuit  may  make  a  great  difGbrenoei 
Just  so  the  union  of  smell  with  taste  is  essential  for  the  enjoymeot 
of  wine.  And  here  let  us  say,  that  eyerything  that  is  smelled  can  be 
tasted,  though  not  everything  that  is  tasted  can  be  smelled.  Tbe 
body  of  wine  affects  both  senses.' — ^pp.  28,  29. 

To  this  we  may  add  Brillat-Savarin's  definition  :  *  Without » 
sense  of  smell  complete  tasting  cannot  exist.   Smell  and  taste  9St 
.  one  sense  where  the  mouth  is  the  laboratory  and  the  nose  the 
chimney,  or,  to  speak  more  exactly,  one  is  good  for  tasting  wb**^ 
can  be  touched,  the  other  for  tasting  the  gases.'     Now  a  stxot^ 
stomach  cannot  appreciate  the  bad  effect  of  a  mixture  of  winc^  '- 
and  however  fine  the  nasal  sensibility  of  an  individual,  it  is  if^' 
possible  to  detect  the  value  of  a  succession  of  different  kinds  ^^ 
bouquet.     Our  own  views  are  that  Chablis  or  a  low  growth    ^ 
Sauterne  may  be  permitted  with  oysters  ;  a  good  quality  of  LqW^ 
Burgundy  or  a  '  g^and  ordinaire '  of  Bordeaux  to  begin  the  repa^*^ 
but  the  moment  you  get  to  a  point  in  the  feast  where  a  higbm^ 
quality  of  wine  is  permitted,  you  should,  with  any  regard    * 
the  stomach  or  the  palate,  stick  to  the  same  class  of  wine. 

Not  the  least  important  element  in  a  well-ordered  repast     ^ 

the  coffee,  which  should   complete  it.     It  is  very  easy  but  m^ 

altogether  just  to  condemn  the  methods  of  making  it  practi»^ 

in  England,  and  impute  to  them  the  only  cause  for  our  finding     ^ 

bad  here.     Opinions  may  differ  as  to  whether  we  do  or  do  m-^ 

find  the   several  varieties    of  the  berry,  Mocha,  Bourbon,  Ms»-* 

tinique,  &c.,  which  are  mixed  together  in  a  French  household,  ^^ 

by  the  tradesmen  who    sell   them.     What  we  maintain  to   1^ 

necessary  as  a  first  step  towards  a  perfect  beverage  is  fresh  roa^*' 

ing  at  home.     We  should  then  find  a  very  indifferent  coffee-berO 

produce  a  very  refreshing  cup.     We  should  get  the  true  aroDO*- 

It  would  appear  that,  in  the  early  part  of  the  last  century,  coS^ 

was  not  only  ground  but  roasted  by  the  ladies,  as  we  gather  boio 

the  lines  of  Pope  in  the  *  Rape  of  the  Lock ': — 

^  ^  '/or 


\ 


The  Kitchen  and  the  Cellar.  401 

'  For  lo  !  the  board  with  onps  and  spoons  is  crowned, 
The  hemes  crackle  and  the  mill  tunis  round.' 

3n  which  Mr.  Elwin  adds  the  following  note: — *^' There 
a  side-board  of  coffee,''  says  Pope,  in  his  letter  describing 
ft*8  mode  of  life  at  Letcombe,  in  1714,  *'  which  the  Dean 
sted  with  his  own  hands  in  an  engine  for  that  purpose." '  * 
Fntil  lately  we  were  not  aware  that  a  roasting^machine  for 
sehold  use  was  on  sale  in  England,  but  on  passing  down 
brd  Street  and  Holbom  we  met  with  two  kinds,  similar  in 
iciple  to  one  which  we  had  ourselves  suggested  to  a  Parisian 
imonger  before  the  war — i.e.  the  use  of  clockwork  to  turn 
barrel,  so  that  a  cook's  time  may  be  saved  and  no  berries 
nt.  Those  we  have  seen  do  not  appear  quite  suited  for 
itchener,  but  a  slight  addition  would  easily  adapt  them  to 
t  kind  of  range. 

)ne  observation,  not  altogether  known,  may  be  added : 
fee  made  with  Schwalheim  water  is  superior  to  that  made 
th  any  other,  due  probably  to  the  extracting  power  of  the 
:ali  held  in  solution  therein,  and  it  might  be  worth  while 
ting  ApoUinaris  or  Taunus  water  in  like  manner.  Also 
OS  note  that  since  the  war,  coffee,  as  served  at  the  cafes  in 
lis,  has  much  fallen  off,  in  consequence,  mainly,  of  the  use 
clucory.  For  our  own  part  we  never,  during  the  Second 
tpire,  considered  it  exceptionally  fine  and  pure,  save  at 
Cafe  du  Cardinal  at  the  comer  of  the  Rue  Richelieu. 
ras  only  in  private  houses  that  one  could  be  secure  of  the 
nine  flavour. 

El  the  simplicity  of  tea^-making  it  is  only  necessary  to  insist 
vrater  boiling  at  the  moment  it  is  poured  on  the  tea :  but 
Came  upon  some  remarks  in  a  modem  cookery  book  against 
ch  we  would  beg  to  protest.  The  writer  begins  by  saying 
•  a  silver  or  metal  teapot  draws  out  the  strength  and  fragrance 
>e  readily  than  one  of  earthenware,  a  point  on  which  we  opine 
Heathen  Chinee  would  differ ;  nor,  if  we  recollect  right, 
lid  that  interesting  paper  by  Mr.  SavUe  Lumley,  when  Secre- 
^  to  the  Legation  at  St.  Petersburg,  on  the  teap-houses  fre- 
tted by  the  ishvoshniks  or  drojibkyndrivers,  support  such  a 
^  ;  and  the  said  ishvoshniks  are  great  connoisseurs  in  that 
'QTage.  The  writer  of  the  said  cookery  book  goes  on  to  say 
t  you  may  half  fill  the  pot  with  boiling  water,  and,  if  the  tea 
of  very  fine  quality,  you  may  let  it  stand  ten  minutes  (I)  before 
ing  up.    Now  there  was  one  Ellis,  who  had  some  reputation  in 

♦  Elwin's  •  Pope,*  vol.  ii.  p.  163. 

VoL  143.— iVb.  286.  2d  the 


402  The  Kitchen  and  the  Cellar. 

the  neighbourhood  of  Richmond  Hill  in  the  matter  of  food  and 
drink — to  be  plain,  for  the  information  of  the  youngest  gene- 
ration,  he  owned  the  Star  and  Grarter  there — and  his  view  about 
tea  was  that  you  lost  the  aroma  and  gained  less  raluable  pro- 
perties  for  all  the  time  beyond  one  minute  that  you  let  it  stancL 
We  can  quote  no  higher  authority  for  our  own  most  persiBtent 
view  on  tnis  question. 

The  hours  at  which  repasts  are  taken  are  too  much  at  the 
caprice  of  fashion  in  England  to  admit  of  any  hope  that  reason 
will  be  heard  on  the  subject.  Some  day  fashion  will  permit  nt 
to  have  our  mid-day  breakfast  or  luncheon,  and  fall  to  our 
dinner  with  no  jaded  appetite  at  6  or  7  o'clock.  On  sanitaij 
grounds  nothing  will  ever  surpass  the  Frenchman's  regulation  of 
his  meals — a  light  breakfast  in  his  bedroom  at  8  A.M.,  a  serioot 
breakfast  from  11  to  noon,  and  a  dinner  from  6  to  8,  according^ 
to  his  occupations  for  the  evening.  To  insist  any  more  on  this 
would  be  to  attempt  the  codification  of  laws  that  will  never  be 
codified,  or  if  codified  never  carried  out,  save  subserviently  to 
the  reigning  fashion. 

We  will  close  these  remarks  by  referring  once  more  to  two  of 
the  works  at  the  head  of  this  article.  GoxxSffs  is  eminently 
practical,  and  adapted  to  the  use  of  man  or  woman  who  likes  to 
go  sometimes  into  the  kitchen  and  converse  courteously  with  the 
artist.  Dubois'  ^Cosmopolitan  Cookery'  has  some  admirable 
recipes,  e.g.  salmon  cutlets,  ^  sauce  des  gourmets,'  page  83  of 
the  English  edition,  and  his  list  of  menus  are  worth  attention. 
Gouffe,  by  the  way,  expressly  declines  to  give  a  list,  for  reasons 
stated  (p.  336).  Among  Dubois'  menus  may  be  noted  one 
(p.  xvii)  for  ten  guests^  served  at  Nauheim  (1867)  by  Cogeiy, 
who  now  keeps  a  restaurant  at  Nice  ;  p.  xxi,  one  for  forty  guests, 
served  by  the  same  artist  at  Helsingfors,  where  good  judgment  is 
united  to  simplicity ;  p.  xxvi,  one  for  fifty  guests,  served  by  Rip^ 
(1867)  to  Prince  Tthen  Count)  Bismarck,  a  menu  where  we 
observe  the  Bohemian  pheasant,  already  referred  to ;  and  p.  xxiit 
a  very  good  menu  for  twelve  persons,  served  by  Blanchet  at  the 
Yorkshire  Club,  no  date  given.  But,  even  after  thus  referring 
to  them  as  deserving  attention,  we  are  bound  to  say  that  they 
are  generally  over- loaded,  and  we  opine  there  are  few  diners-out 
who  would  not  be  thankful  to  see  on  their  plate  less  elaborate 
menus. 

It  proves  the  fallibility  of  cooks,  even  so  great  as  one  who  has 

been  *chef'  to  the  King  of  Prussia,  when  we  find  M.  Urbain 

Dubois    in   his   recipe  for  plum-pudding   omit   the  essential 

ingredient  of  bread-crumbs!     Gouffe  does  not   conmiit  this^ 

grave  error. 

In 


Tlie  Kitchen  and  the  Cellar.  403 

ie  matter  of  English  cookery-books  adapted  to  private 
\j  few  surpass  that  excellent  work  by  Mrs.  Rundell,  of 

with  some  little  revision  and  the  addition  of  truly 
i  plates,  Mr.  Murray  might  surely  give  us  another 
its  excellence  consists  in  that  it  is  a  manual  for  the 
)ld  as  well  as  a  guide  in  the  kitchen,  but  we  are  bound 
t  is  lamentably  deficient  where  it  attempts  to  instruct  us 
ich  cookery. 

3Ught  not  to  conclude  this  review,  devoted  to  simplicity 
dng,  eating  and  drinking,  without  a  reference  to  con- 
B  under  various  names  of  this  and  that  sauce,  many 
ch  are  admirable  when  used  in  their  right  places.     We 

that  the  *  dernier  mot '  as  between  French  and  English 
lets/  neither  of  them  addicted  to  the  dishes  of  a  City 
lan,  would  be,  on  the  part  of  the  second,  *  Are  not  our 
kCtured  sauces  admirable?'  On  the  part  of  the  first — 
ley  not  too  pungent,  and  do  you  not  ask  them  to  do  the 
f  flavour  which  ought  to  be  the  business  of  the  cook  ?  * 

finest  of  them  all  is  rather  based  on  simple  mushroom- 
p  than  on  Indian  herbs,  but  it  is  scarcely  the  most 
r,  and  those  members  of  the  medical  profession  who 
be  for  dyspeptic  individuals  have  as  great  an  interest  in 
IS  of  advertisements,  for  which  in  the  end  the  purchaser 
as  even  the  adventurous  manufacturers  who  fabricate 
from  the  recipe  of  this  or  that  nobleman.     Still,  let  the 

them  be  accepted  as  adjuncts  to  a  broiled  bone  at  2  A.M., 
it  admitting  the  propriety  of  their  position  on  the  dinner- 
pie  salt,  and  vegetable  combinations  that  have  been  made 
:,  is  worth  some  further  comment.  Salt  is  used  at  once 
ich  and  too  little  in  English  kitchens ;  too  much,  when 
ers  of  the  landlord  (like  the  bad  brandy  in  the  sauces  at 
)an   hotels   of  reputation)  it  is   to   excite   a   desire   for 

on  the  part  of  the  guest ;  too  little  when  in  the  case 
rilled  beefsteak  the  cook  forgets  that  salt  combines  during 
rocess  of  cooking  more  effectively  in  its  coarse  kitchen 

*,  combination  of  salt  with  herbs  has  notably  succeeded  in 
istances,  and  it  is  reserved  for  the  future  to  borrow  from 
s  known,  and  combine  more  delicate,  and  yet  more  delicate. 
We  allude  to  known  combinations  in  speaking  of  that 
»sed  of  the  Chili-bean  rubbed  up  with  salt,  to  which  the 
has  given  the  name  of  Oriental  salt,  a  condiment  that 

*  FovAei  au  gro§  m2  is  too  little  known  in  England. 

2d2  \iM 


404  English  Thought  in  the  Eighteenth  Century* 

has  the  flavour  without  the  extreme  pungency  of  cayenne, 
would  be  an  admirable  substitute  for  it  in  that  much-ill-i 
incentive  to  drink  called  devilled  whitebait.     Another 

combination  is  that  of  celery-seed  and  salt,  sold  by  a  weli-kno wq 

Italian  warehouseman.     On  the  table  each  must  stand  on  its 

own  merits  in  reference  to  the  guest's  taste ;  neither  to  be  insisB~-~-ted 
on  indiscriminately,  but  each  in  turn  especially  adapted  to  soi 
fish,  roast  and  ^  releve,'  cheese  or  a  salad. 

This,  to  conclude,  is  the  sum  of  gastronomical  observal 
which  appear  to  us  as  most  worthy  of  reflection  by  those 
would  see  the  English  ^  cuisine '  raised  to  a  higher  level,  and 
desire  that  the  younger  generation  may  at  least  have  a  palate*. 

1.  Herbal  flavour  is  to  be  desired  in  soups,  and  inciea^Kcf 
knowledge  on  the  part  of  cooks  of  the  various  kinds  ojirf 
qualities  of  herbs  and  roots. 

2.  The  ^  batterie  de  cuisine '  should  be  improved  by  an  iji- 
creased  number  of  copper  vessels,  and  by  the  use  of  the  sala- 
mander and  smaller  implements  for  cutting,  scooping  and  othe^ 
wise  arranging  vegetables.    Moreover,  the  use  of  charcoal  should 
be  established. 

3.  The  use  of  more  butter  and  less  lard  should  be  encouraged. 

4.  The  market-gardener  should  learn  that  he  has  duties  to 
fulfil. 

5.  Red  wines  should  be  the  rule  and  not  the  exception  at 
dinner,  and  champagne,  if  served  at  all,  should  be  served  with 
the  sweets  and  not  with  the  mutton. 

6.  Coffee  should  be  made  from  different  varieties  of  the  benj 
and,  if  possible,  should  be  roasted  at  home,  certainly  always 
ground  there. 

7.  Fashion  should  permit  us  to  adopt  more  sensible  hours 
for  our  meals. 


Art.  IV.— History  of  English  Thought  in  the  Eighteenth  Centdxy* 
By  Leslie  Stephen.     London.     2  vols.     1876. 

IT  is  difficult  to  sum  up  in  a  few  words  our  opinion  of  Mr* 
Stephen's  book.  We  have  to  acknowledge  in  it  such  merits 
as  are  not  often  found  united.  We  recognise  its  laborious 
research,  its  subtle  criticism,  its  delicate  literary  perception,  its 
style,  always  skilful,  and  often  lucid  and  perspicuous,  wbo* 
perspicuity  is  not  easy.  But  in  spite  of  all  these  merits  we 
must  confess  to  having  found  it  often  dull.  We  feel  that  during 
the  greater  part  of  it  Mr.  Stephen  has  bound  himself  and  his 
reader  to  rather  an  arid  task,  and  one  in  which  his  own  litoraij 

perspicacity 


English  Thought  in  the  Eighteenth  Century.  405 

perspicacity  is  often  thrown  away.  A  history  of  the  so-called 
philosophical  Deism  of  last  century  would  undoubtedly  be  use- 
nil  as  that  of  an  episode  in  the  history  of  thought — an  episode, 
however,  neither  very  important  nor  very  productive  of  results. 
But  in  that  case  it  must  be  written  in  a  direct  and  narrative 
form,  and  must  not  consist  of  a  mixture  of  elaborate  criticism, 
with  arbitrarily-selected  reminiscences  from  the  writings  of  the 
chief  exponents  of  this  school  of  thought  On  the  other  hand,  a 
detailed  and  philosophical  inquiry  into  all  its  phases  of  thought, 
such  as  we  have  here,  by  way  of  recognising  m  the  Deist  con- 
troversy a  new  starting-point  for  religious,  social,  or  political 
ideas,  seems  to  us  to  be,  in  great  measure,  misspent  labour. 
It  is  to  attribute  to  an  elaborate  logomachy  the  generative  force 
of  a  great  movement  of  thought — such  a  movement  as  is 
spontaneously  developed  out  of  the  instinctive  energy  of  an 
age,  and  which  finds  expression  in  the  works  of  genius  which 
that  age  brings  forth. 

As  a  consequence  of  this,  our  recognition  of  the  merits  of 
Mr.  Stephen's  work  is  accompanied  by  a  distrust  of  his  method. 
Those  writers,  to  the  chronicling  of  whose  ideas  he  has  devoted 
two-thirds  of  his  book,  we  hold  to  be  hardly  entitled  (with  one  or 
two  very  conspicuous  exceptions)  to  any  abiding  place  whatever 
in  the  history  either  of  thought  or  of  fact  (a  distinction  on  which 
Mr.  Stephen  insists  more  than  we  should  be  inclined  to  do). 
We  prefer  to  view  the  eighteenth  century  from  quite  another 
aspect  than  that  which  he  chooses  to  adopt.  Writers  whose  in- 
fluence he  considers  to  have  been  weak  in  consequence  of  their 
divorce  from  the  philosophical  thoughts  of  their  day,  we  should 
consider  to  be  the  main  forces  of  their  age.  We  believe  our- 
selves able  to  see  strong  and  determining  characteristics  in 
certain  elements  of  thought  in  the  eighteenth  century  which 
Mr.  Stephen  passes  over  with  the  slightest  recognition,  or 
altogether  omits.  The  merits  of  some  of  the  individual 
writers  on  whom  he  passes  judgment  we  should  be  disposed  to 
rate  very  differently. 

The  most  interesting  parts  of  Mr.  Stephen's  book  seem  to 
us  to  be  the  short  risumi  of  the  general  course  of  thought  in  the 
eighteenth  century,  with  which  the  first  volume  opens,  and  the 
*  Characteristics,'  which  occupy  the  last  hundred  and  thirty 
pages  of  the  second.  We  often  find  ourselves  agreeing  with  a 
piece  of  literary  criticism,  which  the  author  curtails  so  as  to 
show  that  he  considers  it  as  no  essential  part  of  his  work.  And 
yet  it  seems  to  us  that  it  is  just  in  this  direction  Mr.  Stephen's 
work  might  have  been  with  advantage  increased,  at  the  expense 
of  the  Tolands,  and  Collinses,  and  Wakefields,  and  their  lucu- 
brations. 


406  English  Thought  in  the  Eighteenth  Century. 

brations.    We  often  find  ourselves  ready  to  accept  Mr.  StepWi 
hinted  scepticism  when  we  are   forced   to   reject  his  definite 
expressions  of  belief.      ^  The  ultimate  victory  of  truth/  saji 
Mr.  Stephen,  early  in  the  first  volume,  *  is  a  consoling,  we  may 
hope  that  it  is  a  sound  doctrine.'     When  we  consider  what  it  is 
that  Mr.  Stephen  means  by  truth,  we  confess  to  a  greater  sym- 
pathy with  the  underlying  and  half-cynical  doubt  at  which  he 
hints  rather  than  with  the  professed  aspiration.     ^When  we 
look,'  he  says  again,  ^beyond  the  narrow  circle  of  illustrious 
philosophers,  we  are  impressed  with  the  conviction  that  other 
causes  are  at  work  besides   those  which  are  obvious  to  the 
logician '  (vol.  i.  p.  3).     And  so,  again,  near  the  close  of  the 
second  volume,  in  speaking  of  the  advent  of  a  vast  revolation 
in  thought,  Mr.  Stephen  says :  ^  The  change  does  not  follow  any 
purely  logical  order.     The  greatest  thinkers  of  the  century  are 
not  the  first  to  show  the  working  of  the  new  leaven.'  Or,  again : 
^  The  imaginative  literature  of  an  age  must  express  the  gennine 
feelings  of  the  age,  or  it  will  perish  stillborn.     From  Pope,  and 
Swift,  and  Addiison  we  can  often  learn  more  safely  thajn  from 
Clarke,  or  Waterland,  or  Bentley,  what  were  the  deepest  con- 
victions of  their  age.'     But  Mr.  Stephen  is  not  always  so  liberal 
Statements  of  the  futility  of  metaphysical  theories  are  strangely 
blended  with  claims  for  some  particular  theory  as  the  toudi* 
stone  of  truth,   which   seem  to   show  the  limitations  of  his 
liberalism.     Montesquieu's  grasp  of  the  historical  method  *is 
by  no  means  assured,  says  Mr.  Stephen.      And  why  ?    Because 
Montesquieu  does  not  accept  it  as  ^  the  record  of  an  evolution. 
But  need  the  grasp  of  a  method  be  less  sure  in  one  case  than 
another,  because  men  may  not  always  pursue  it  to  the  same 
results  ?     So  again  we  find  the  religious  revival  under  Wesley 
set  aside  as  barren  ^  from  its  want  of  any  direct  connection  witb 
the  speculative  movement.'     The  want  of  any  *  sound  founda- 
tion in  philosophy  prevented  the  growth  of  an  elevated  theology) 
and  alienated  all  cultivated  thinkers,'  we  are  told.    But  does  not 
this  very  seriously  limit  the  range  of  our  sympathies  ?    If  ^^ 
want  of  a  sound  foundation  in  philosophy  produces  barrenness, 
the  presence  of  a  mistaken  philosophy  must  be  much  worse. 
Are  we  bound,  then,  to  reject  Wordsworth's  *  Ode  on  Immortality 
because  we  do  not  speculatively  agree  with  the  Platonic  doctrio* 
of  Reminiscence  on  which  it  is  based  ?     Are  we  bound  to  rej^ 
all  the  imaginative  and  emotive  superstruction  of  the  Platonic 
writings,   because   we  do  not   accept,   in   its   entirety,  Plato* 
doctrine  of  the  Idea  of  Good  ? 

A  sentence  which   follows   and   develops  that  just  quoted) 
illustrates   a  defect    with    which    we   meet    not   very    rarev 

throughon^ 


English  Thxmghi  in  the  Eighteenth  Ceniurg.  407 

hroaghout  the  book — that  of  the  use  of  words  whose  sound 
I  better  than  their  meaning.  ^  The  revivalism  of  the  present 
enturjr/  says  Mr.  Stephen,  differs  curiously  from  Wesley's 
D  this  respect  Though  less  important  in  its  moral  aspect,  it 
as  to  the  speculation  of  the  time  the  relation,  at  least,  of  re* 
ction  or  misunderstanding,  and  has  therefore  produced  some 
ainable  literature.'  Translated  into  facts,  what  does  this  mean  ? 
)oes  Mr.  Stephen  intend  to  say  that  Wesley's  teaching  was 
nferior  to  that  of  Messrs.  Moody  and  Sankey,  because  he,  a 
lan  of  learning  and  a  scholar,  chose  to  set  aside  Hume's 
caching,  while  they  have  the  ^  relation '  (as  Mr.  Stephen  chooses 

>  call  it)  towards  Herbert  Spencer  of  neither  understanding  nor 
aiing  to  understand  one  word  of  what  he  ever  has  written,  or 
ver  will  write?  No  doubt  this  is  not  what  Mr.  Stephen  means ; 
>ut  it  is  almost  all  that  we  can  draw  from  a  plain  interpretation 
f  his  words.    We  have  also  to  find  fault  with  a  certain  tendency 

>  indulge  in  epigrams  and  smart  epithets,  which  disguise,  at 
!ast,  if  they  do  not  pervert  truth,  and  hardly  fit  in  with  the 
abject  of  Mr.  Stephen's  book.  The  description,  for  instance, 
f  iVesley,  as  a  ^  human  gamecock,'  does  not  seem  to  us  happy, 
i^e  are  sorry  to  see  Mr.  Stephen  making  use  of  the  well-worn 
latitude  of  criticism  which  describes  the  philosophy,  most 
ioently  represented  in  England  by  Dean  Mansel,  as  an  attempt 

>  *  out-infidel  the  infidels.  We  are  still  more  sorry  to  find  him 
ringing  into  a  serious  passage,  describing  the  relations  between 
ohnson  and  Adam  Smith,  an  epithet  borrowed  from  a  tale  of 
le  gossips  which  has  been  long  since  absolutely  proved  untrue. 
A  dealing  with  Johnson,  Mr.  Stephen  apparently  makes  no 
Bbrt  to  distinguish  between  the  hurried  fragments  of  heated 
[>nversation,  and  the  deliberate  written  judgments  of  literary 
mtroversy.  Johnson's  famous  retort,  *  We  know  we  are  free, 
ad  there's  an  end  on't,'  is  quoted  so  as  to  give  point  to  Mr. 
tephen's  description  of  his  opinions,  but  with  no  apparent  per- 
sption  that  Johnson  would  just  as  little  have  used  this  by  way 
r  a  philosophical  argument  as  Mr.  Stephen  himself  would.  It 
as  an  effective  common-sense  rebuff  to  laborious  pedantry — a 
sbuff  which  many  of  the  combatants  brought  to  light  again  in 
Ir.  Stephen's  pages  would  have  done  well  to  take  to  heart.  It 
(lis  us  something  of  Johnson  as  a  man;  it  tells  us  nothing 
hatever  of  him  as  an  ethical  philosopher.  Speculation  was,  as 
fr.  Stephen  says,  'abhorrent  to  Johnson,'  and  equally  so  to 
wift :  not  because  Swift  and  Johnson  did  not  care  to  think, 
at  because  they  saw  that  nine-tenths  of  the  thinking  that 
illed  itself  speculation  in  their  day  was  mere  solemn  trifling. 
^ne  more  of  Mr.  Stephen's  dangerous  epigrams,  and  we  have 

done 


408  English  Thmght  in  the  Eighteenth  Century. 

done  with  them.    Clarke's  relation  to  Leibnitz,  he  says,  is  mvicit 
the  same  as  that  of  Whewell  to  ^  modem  German  philosophei:*.' 
The  taste  for  analogies  is  a  prominent  one  in  our  day,  and  we 
take   them    without   much   examination ;    but    we   think   Rfr. 
Stephen  would  find  it  a  little  difficult  to  explain  exactly  what  is 
meant  by  this  particular  analogy. 

There  are  two  sayings,  both  by  writers  of  the  eighteeDth 
century,  and  one  of  which  is  more  than  once  quoted  by3£^« 
Stephen,  which  may  serve  as  maxim  and  finger-post  in  studying 
the  general  outline  of  its  history,  whether  of  fact  or  of  thoiight* 
One  of  these  is  by  Johnson.  ^  Life,'  he  says,  *  is  surely  giveis 
us  for  higher  purposes  than  to  gather  what  our  ancestors  hxr^ 
wisely  thrown  away,  and  to  learn  what  is  of  no  value  ba^ 
because  it  has  been  forgotten.'  The  other  is  from  Bnrke^ 
written  when  the  century  was  near  its  close.  ^  Who,  bom  withid' 
the  last  forty  years,'  he  asks,  ^  has  read  one  word  of  Collins,  and 
Toland,  and  Tindal,  and  Chubb,  and  Morgan,  and  that  whol^ 
race  who  called  themselves  freethinkers?  Who  now  read^ 
Bolingbroke?  Who  ever  read  him  through?'  Johnson'^ 
maxim  may  well  induce  us  to  allow  the  oblivion  which  Bork^ 
recognised  in  1790,  to  rest  with  its  dust  undisturbed.  Far  fronx 
being  a  salient  feature  in  the  development  of  the  century,  w^ 
think  the  prosings  of  the  Deists  and  would-be  freethinkers 
that  spoiled  so  much  paper  in  its  first  half,  present  one  of  tfap 
least  important  phases  of  its  whole  course.  The  semi-rationsl^ 
ising,  which  Mr.  Stephen  speaks  of  as  characteristic  then,  ts 
it  is  now,  of  a  certain  phase  of  radical  thought  in  England  9 
was  never  more  rife  or  more  fashionable.  But  it  alwajs 
will  be  fashionable  in  certain  states  of  society.  In  the  loll 
that  precedes  great  political  movements,  when  the  busybodies 
are  stirred  like  insects  into  activity  by  the  sluggish  and  heav^ 
atmosphere,  and  yet  can  find  no  place  in  the  political  arenas 
they  will  actually  turn  their  attention  to  moralising,  or,  s* 
they  call  it,  to  the  pursuit  of  philosophy.  So  it  was  in  th0 
reign  of  Walpole ;  so  it  was  when  revolution  was  simmering  ii* 
the  last  days  of -the  Roman  republic.  The  pedantic  reminii-' 
cences  of  the  schools  of  Greek  philosophy  in  Rome  had  pn^* 
bably  just  as  little  effect  on  practice  as  the  well-turned  mof»I 
platitudes  had  upon  the  fashionable  or  pedantic  prosers  in  the 
time  of  George  IL  Tom  Jones  might  have  addressed  philo- 
sopher Square  in  the  very  words  that  Propertius  uses  to  his 
philosophic  friend  who  had  been  meddling  with  the  poets 
mistress : — 

'  Quid  tua  Socraticis  tibi  nunc  sapientia  libris 

Proderit  aut  rerum  dioere  posse  vias  ? ' 

The 


English  Tlumght  in  the  Eighteenth  Century.  409 

(pecious  apophthegms  had  probably  as  little  influence 
^  profligates  of  Rome  as  the  philosophical  sermon,  by 
e  ordinary  of  Newgate  sent  Jonathan  Wild  to  sleep,  had 
\X  edifying  hero  of  eighteenth-century  England.  But 
ionable  philosophy  was  not  only  divorced  from  prac^ 

was  also  linked  with  an  almost  unparalleled  amount 
al  coxcombry.  Mr.  Stephen  passes  lightly  over  the 
f  the  sceptical  coxcomb  so  often  presented  to  us  in 
-e  of  the  day;  but  the  figure  is  too  ubiquitous  to  be 

From  Dryden  to  Fielding  there  is  hanlly  a  single 
f  any  importance  who  has  not  given  us  the  picture. 

he  impressed  his  contemporaries,  so  the  writers  to 
le  resorted  for  literary  pabulum  impress  us.  They 
>m  no  restless  anxiety  that  drives  them  perforce  from 
ide  of  orthodoxy.  Their  restlessness,  if  it  exists,  is  that 
dgety  school-boy,  not  that  of  the  grown  man  who  feels 
y  doubt,  and  strains  after  a  solution.     They  make  no 

conceal  how  much  superior  they  think  themselves  to 
o  are  still  in  the  slough  of  orthodoxy,  although  they  them- 
ten  cloak  in  the  orthodox  dress  opinions  which  it  might 
ivenient  to  parade.-  They  are  stirred  to  critical  inquiry 
verpowering  scholarship :  on  the  contrary,  what  little 
lip  or  learning  they  have  to  show  in  a  few  instances,  is 
ily  to  seek.'  They  flounder  over  their  logic,  they 
their  own  tongue,  they  ar»  lost  amid  the  pitfalls  of 
interpretation.  It  is  but  the  Battle  of  the  Books  fought 
in  on  other  ground,  and  with  few  weapons  on  the  side 
ssailants,  except  arrogance  and  a  short-lived  fashion. 
5r  all,  it  is  such  a  very  little  way  they  go  1  The  standing* 
By  reach,  and  from  which  they  look  back  with  such 
x>mplacency  upon  the  slough  of  orthodoxy,  is  so  flimsy 
icial  I  One,  perhaps,  thinks  he  has  gone  a  long  way  in 
'  ^  as  many  miracles  as  possible.'     Another  denies  the 

of  Christ,  but  is  confident  about  His  second  coming 
nrenty  years.  Their  office  is  to  pick  holes  in  the  faith 
thodox,  not  to  provide  a  creed  that  would  have  a  soimd 
bical  basis  for  themselves.     They  have  as  little  affinity 

real  philosophy,  represented  by  Locke,  and  Berkeley, 
me,  as  with  the  literary  genius  of  the  day.  One  of 
oland)  claimed  a  literary  connection  with  Locke ;  but 
spudiated  without  much  ceremony  by  the  philosopher, 
ad  no  sympathy  with  fashionable  aping  of  scepticism, 
ks  of  it  almost  as  Swift  might  have  done.  He  quotes 
ig  of  Bacon,  regarding  the  '  multiplied  indiscretion  and 
ice '  of  not  only  saying  in  the  heart  that  there  is  no 

God, 


410  English  Thought  in  the  Eighteenth  Century. 

God,  but  uttering  it  with  the  lips.     Even  with  Gibbon,  wh&t' 
ever  his  belief  might  be,  the  sceptical  fop  was  an  object  oC 
contempt.     *  Whatever  you  have  been  told  of  my  opinioni,'  1^^ 
writes  to  his  aunt  in  1788,  ^  I  can  assure  you  with  truth  that  I 
consider  religion   as   the   best  guide   of  youth,  and  the  bes^ 
support   of  old   age.'      ^All   good   historians   are   soeptici,'   ^ 
French  nobleman  once  said  to  Gibbon.     Gibbon,  we  are  tolcly 
looked  displeased,  and  remarked  that  ^  he  had  never  heard  di»^ 
Dr.  Robertson  was  a  sceptic'     The  ill-bred  flippancy  evidentljr 
jarred  on  him. 

From   higher  thought,  then,  the   numerous  brood  of  temi" 
rationalists,  like  Collins,  or  rabid  infidels,  like  Paine,  are  no*^ 
only  to  be  distinguished ;  they  come  from  a  source,  and  ibe^ 
lead  to  results,  the  very  opposite  of  those  from  which  such  thongh't^ 
proceeds,  or  at  which  it  aims.     They  bear  intrinsic  marks  of  theiP 
own  origin.     The  age  was  essentially  one,  not  of  earnest  thongh'^ 
and  inquiry ;  not  even  of  daring  impiety  or  of  energetic  wicked"- 
ness ;  but  of  foppery  and  weakness.     Mr.  Stephen  mentions,  onl^ 
to  set  aside  its  verdict.  Brown's  ^  Estimate  of  the  Manners  vA 
Principles  of  the  Times,'  published  in  1757.     And  yet,  witta 
some  reservations,  it  seems  to  us  that  the  picture  is  confirmed  b^ 
almost  all  the  writers,  not  only  of  that  day,  but  of  the  pre- 
ceding generation.     Swift's  anger  is  turned,  not  against  wicsed— 
ness  or  impiety,  but  against  folly  and  afiectation.     The  *  Spec- 
tator '  pictures  for  us  a  society  whose  most  pronounced  membes* 
was  the  coxcomb.     Fielding  tells  us  deliberately,  when  be  i^ 
defending  himself  against  a  charge  of  coarseness,  that  the  pre— 
vailing  feature  of  his  age  was,  not  its  lewdness  or  its  wickednessv 
but  its  weakness.     Goldsmith  does  not  very  often  satirise ;  bo^ 
he  attacks,  as  strongly  as  he  attacks  anything,  the  affectation  th»^ 
despises  what  was  called  ^  low  humour.'     Brown  is  therefore,  u> 
all  likelihood,  true  enough,  when  he  says  that  the  chief  charac- 
teristic of  his  age  was  its  ^  vain,  luxurious,  and  selfish  efieminac|r; 
when  he  avers  that  low  spirits,  nervous  disorders,  and  cowardice 
never  were  more  rife.     If  so,  it  is  not  difficult  to  account  fo^ 
the  genesis  of  the  Deists.     In  the  beginning  of  the  oentory  tb^ 
political  struggle  was  for  the  time  brought  to  a  close ;  but  i^ 
had  left  behind  it  some  traces,  in  a  deeply-rooted  dishonesty 
and  an  aifected  cynicism.     The  door  of  politics  was  dosed  ^ 
all  who  were  not  within  a  certain  charmed  circle.     There  was » 
need  for  some  new  activity,  if  only  as  a  safety-valve.    Tbij 
need    met   a   state   of  things  which  just  suited  it.      The  old 
fervour  of  religion  which  had  breathed,  perhaps,  latest  in  the 
writings  of  Jeremy  Taylor,  had  for  a  time  gone  out,    TajW^ 

was,  we  might  almost  say,  the  last  of  those  who  brongbt  to 

betf 


English  Tlioughi  in  the  Eighteenth  Century,  411 

K>ii  religion  the  fresh  energy  of  spirit  that  extended  from 
naissance  to  his  day.     Religion  in  his  hands  had  been 

with  all  the  wecdth  of  imagery,  with  all  the  lavish 
>ur  of  illustration,  all  the  grandeur  of  eloquence,  that 
his  the  most  poetical  prose  in  the  language.  Puritanism 
ne  all  this  to  death.      Religion  had  become  formalised, 

the  time  had  lost  its  power  over  all  who  did  not  submit 
irmalities.  A  generation,  thus  chilled  at  the  core,  vain 
x;ted  in  its  tendencies,  shallow  in  its  thought,  found  no  em- 
nt  so  congenial  as  that  of  building  up  quasi-philosophical 
I  as  formal  as  that  phase  of  religion  which  they  were 
to  supersede.  They  did  so,  by  virtue  of  no  advance  upon . 
redecessors,  but  by  a  simple  accident  of  history.  Their 
ere  as  flimsy  and  aflTected  as  the  authors.  To  attempt  to 
le  them  is  much  the  same  task  as  if  we  were  to  attempt 
tmct  a  history  of  contemporary  thought  by  summarising 
ermons  of  Mr.  Voysey.  They  are  at  the  most  but  flimsy 
cidental  aberrations,  which  passed  away  as  quickly  as 
ime.  A  theory  of  evolution  must  have  better  evidence 
e  appearance  of  such  a  prototjrpe  of  common-place  Broad 
ism,  in  order  to  be  accepted  as  an  advance  upon  Hooker, 
ylor,  and  Milton. 

lave  no  desire  to  take  up  the  cudgels  for  the  opponents 
)eists  in  answer  to  Mr.  Stephen.  We  are  perfectly  ready 
it  that  the  essential  weakness  of  the  position  extended 
>ulk  of  the  orthodox  writers,  as  well  as  to  their  adversaries. 

not  seek,  now,  to  mitigate'  even  the  severe  judgments 

on   Mr.   Stephen's   pet   aversion.    Bishop   Warburton. 

for  their  superior  scholarship  and  trained  habits  of 
Qg,  the  Qarkes,  and  Chandlers,  and  Woolstons  are  little 
hBXk  those  whose  arguments  they  combated.  Both  sides 
$11  be  left  in  the  oblivion  to  which  they  have  long  since 
tmmitted.  But  we  would  rather  show  how  the  jejuneness 
itruggle,  on  the  one  side  and  on  the  other,  comprised  but 
1  part  even  of  contemporary  thought,  and  how  it  passed 
»  completely  as  if  it  never  existed  when  stronger  in- 
I  came  into  play. 

>nsidering  the  main  sweep  of  eighteenth-century  thought 
"e  two  principles  which,  as  we  believe,  ought  chiefly  to  be 

view.    First  of  all,  it  is  to  be  noticed  that,  more  than 

bich  preceded   it,  this  century  was  one   in  which  the 

amongst  men  stood  even  more  than  usually  prominent 

t  their  fellows.     If  it  is  the  aristocratic  age,  so  far  as 

are  concerned,  it  is  pre-eminently  so  in  the  sphere  of 
.     Laborious  investigation,  the  storing  up  of  material, 

the 


412  English  Thought  in  Hie  Eighteenth  Century. 

the  wood-hewing  and  the  water-drawing  of  literatare,  brought 
little  honour.  From  one  end  of  the  century  to  the  other,  die 
men  who  stand  forth  are  those  who,  out  of  comparatirely  littk 
material  as  the  fruit  of  research,  accomplished  what  thej  did  bj 
the  sheer  effort  of  genius.  Lesser  men  tried  to  vie  with  theo 
and  miserably  failed.  Men  who  might  have  made  compeleii 
commentators,  who  might  have  gathered  stores  of  philologica 
facts  for  future  use,  who  might  have  pursued  new  sdentifi 
observations,  or  specialised  for  themselves  some  line  of  aoti 
quarian  research,  attempted,  instead,  to  emulate  a  Locke, 
Berkeley,  or  a  Hume,  and  with  the  natural  result.  We  miifl 
beware,  therefore,  of  studying  some  narrow  school  of  thought  ii 
all  its  details,  and  believing  that  thereby  we  reach  the  fits 
movements  of  the  century.  We  must  reach  these  movemflBl 
through  the  leaders  of  thought :  not  necessarily  the  leaden  c 
speculation,  but  those  who,  for  whatever  reason,  made  the  mil 
of  people  accept  their  rule. 

Secondly,  we  must  beware  of  detaching  the  passing  phases  o 
thought  or  literature  in  that  century  from  the  social  or  politia 
surroundings  in  which  they  appear.  The  degree  of  their  le 
spective  greg^riousness  is  just  one  of  those  points  in  whidi  it  i 
hard  to  pronounce  any  very  decisive  verdict  as  between  the  Bie 
of  different  ages :  but  we  arc  strongly  inclined  to  think  dtf 
men  lived  much  less  alone  in  the  eighteenth  century  than  die 
do  in  our  own  day.  What  the  Literary  Qub  is  to  one  of  th 
modem  institutions  of  Pall  Mall  as  regards  social  communioi 
such,  we  are  inclined  to  think,  was  London  society  in  the  dij 
of  Johnson  (and  of  the  generation  before  as  well  as  that  afie 
him)  to  London  society  of  to-day.  What  men  thought  am 
wrote  was  influenced  to  an  unusual  degree  by  their  surroand 
ings :  and  as  amid  these  surroundings  there  was  generally  OA 
conspicuous  light,  we  may  say  that  the  thought  and  ¥rriting  o 
each  clique  was  more  or  less  the  reflection  of  the  spirit  givea  t 
that  clique  by  its  leader.  More  than  this,  the  strength  of  tk 
social  tendency  impressed  literature  very  strongly  with  the  pw 
vailing  questions  of  the  day,  whether  social  or  political.  M0 
could  not  shake  themselves  free  from  some  mastering  bias,  aff 
the  very  influence  they  possessed  was  sometimes  owing  to  di 
force  with  which  they  represented  that  bias. 

In  the  first  part  of  the  century  the  leaning  was  in  the  diredio" 
of  party  politics.  Perhaps  the  most  typical  names  that  cas  ^ 
chosen  to  illustrate  the  age  are  those  of  Addison  and  Swift,  ^i 
nature  both  were,  above  all  things,  examples  of  the  fOsA\ 
literary  spirit.     Addison  is  most  at  home  in  the  dignified  ea» 

of  a  literary  criticism  which  often  more  than  threatens  to  b* 

pedantic 


English  Thought  in  the  Eighteenth  Century.  413 

pedantic.  Swift  first  won  his  spurs  in  a  literary  controversy. 
The  writings  of  both  are  full  of  denunciations  of  party  spirit — 
the  bane  of  the  age,  the  curse  of  the  age ;  that  which  makes  it  a 
misfortune  for  a  man  to  have  been  bom  in  the  age  ;  that  which 
makes  men  lose  every  fundamental  principle  of  rationality  or  of 
morals.  But,  in  spite  of  all  these  denunciations,  party  politics 
made  slaves  of  them.  They  were  constrained  to  the  fetters  they 
despised.  With  Addison  the  effect  was,  perhaps,  less  disastrous. 
He  never,  fortunately  for  himself,  became  a  master  at  the  work  : 
•od,  in  spite  of  the  lavish  praise  of  Macaulay,  the  papers  in  the 
Whig  *  Examiner '  and  the  *  Freeholder '  read  very  tamely  beside 
the  political  essays  of  Swift.  It  was  through  these  last  that  all 
the  force  of  the  most  tremendous  satire  that  English  or  any 
other  literature  has  ever  seen,  had  to  pour  itself.  Through 
these  English  literature  advanced  to  a  satiric  power  that  ex- 
tended beyond  the  narrow  lines  of  Whig  and  Tory  party,  but 
which,  nevertheless,  retained  something  of  its  old  political  tonie 
to  the  end* 

It  is  to  the  virulence  of  party  spirit,  then,  that  the  first  gift  of 
the  eighteenth  century  to  English  literature,  that  of  its  greatest 
^Mcimens  of  satire,  is  directly  due.  But  mere  virulence  would 
not  have  added  a  great  power  to  literature,  had  it  not  found  a 
OMmthpiece  in  Swift  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the  main 
fince  of  controversial  literature  from  that  day  to  this  has  con- 
^•ted  in  an  imitation,  more  or  less  successful,  of  Swift's  manner. 
It  was  a  manner  the  very  opposite  of  that  of  the  Deist  contro- 
▼erdes  which  Mr.  Stephen  has  resuscitated,  eagerly  as  these 
strive  to  repeat  some  of  its  worst  features.  The  most  contro- 
*Uiunate  part  of  its  art  was  what  we  may  call  its  veiled  per- 
sonality. Swift  knew  human  nature  too  well  to  appeal  to 
S^oeral  maxims,  however  well  reasoned.  He  throws  his  whole 
"■^roe  into  what  will  directly  strike  the  common  feeling,  and  his 
^^valled  power  of  insight  enables  him  to  do  it  with  success. 
Whatever  he  has  to  enforce  he  presents  in  such  a  way  as  to 
s^e  the  commonest  apprehension,  yet  without  leaving  any 
^^cal  fallacy  which  trained  thinking  can  expose.  Because 
^  does  not  appeal  to  reason,  but  to  passion ;  he  seeks  not  to 
^^vince,  but  to  carry  men  away.  He  insidiously  hints  his 
P^^CQUses :  but  once  grant  them,  and  your  power  of  resistance  is 
^  ui  end.  He  veils  personalities  by  introducing  them  only  as 
|*litttrations.  The  gnmness  of  his  humour  adds  to  its  satiric 
"•^De.  What  can  be  better  for  the  purpose  of  political  con- 
^Tersy,  for  instance,  than  the  contrast  between  the  long  list 
^  Marlborough's  pensions  and  offices,  which  he  reckons  at 
^»000^  and  the  rewards  of  the  victorious  Roman  General, 

reckoned, 


414  English  Thaughi  in  the  Eighteenth  Century. 

reckoned,  from  the  Arch  at  500/.,  down  to  the  laurel  croirn 
at  2d. — at  exactly  994Z.  lis.  10(f.  ?  The  whole  is  giren  tf 
gravelj  as  a  State  paper ;  and  at  the  end  our  onlj  aniwer  is 
that  the  things  compared  are  incomparable ;  we  cannot  impugn 
the  terms  of  the  comparison. 

The  force  of  Addison's  satire,  on  the  other  hand,  lies,  like 
that  of  the  rest  of  his  writings,  in  his  calm  and  polished  humour. 
After  the  invectives  of  Swift,  it  was  but  a  light  thing  for  t 
political  opponent  to  have  his  literary  efforts  laughed  at  ai 
^high  nonsense,  which  blusters  and  makes  a  noise,  stalks  npoK 
hard  words,  and  rattles  through  polysyllables.  It  is  loud  anc 
sonorous,  smooth  and  periodical,  and  has  something  in  it  lik^ 
manliness  and  force.  In  a  word,  your  high  nonsense  is  Iik< 
jEso^%  ass  clothed  in  a  lion's  skin.'  He  gives  a  good-humoorec 
caricature  of  the  Tory  fears  *  of  the  set  of  men  among  us  pread» 
ing  up  that  pernicious  and  diabolical  doctrine  of  self-presenr» 
tion — which  may  even  induce  people  to  rise  up  in  vindicatioi 
of  their  rights  whenever  a  wicked  prince  shall  make  use  of  bii 
authority  to  subvert  them.'  *  When  a  leading  man,'  he  WKp 
with  a  quiet  humour,  *  begins  to  grow  apprehensive  for  tki 
Church,  you  may  be  sure  he  is  either  in  danger  of  losing  i 
place,  or  in  despair  of  getting  one.'  He  parodies  the  T(^i 
creed;  he  gives  us  a  picture  of  the  Tory  fox-hunter  'whc 
thought  there  had  been  no  good  weather  since  the  Revolution. 
As  we  read  we  feel  the  animation  to  be  simulated,  and  that  th4 
author  is  ready,  wherever  he  can,  to  get  quit  of  controvenia 
tirade,  and  slip  on  the  easy  dress  of  his  *  Spectator.'  Party  poli- 
tics could  not  subdue  him  as  they  did  Swift,  because  he  was  i 
less  useful  adherent. 

But  the  controversial  writings  developed  by  party  politico 
and  of  which  Swift  and  Addison  are  the  two  chief  representa* 
tivcs,  had  an  enormous  after-influence  upon  English  thoaght 
and  literature.  By  them  what  we  are  disposed  to  think  thi 
chief  characteristic  of  the  century,  viz.  its  power  of  humoor, 
was  mainly  shaped.  Its  deep-reaching  penetration,  its  infinite 
humanity,  was  common  to  both  these  writers.  From  Addi^X) 
it  drew  its  repose,  its  bonhomie,  its  easy  polish.  To  Swift  i^ 
owed  its  deep-lurking  melancholy,  and  the  grim  cynicism  wi^ 
which  it  is  impregnated.  It  was  chiefly  Swift  that  taught  i^ 
those  boldest  flights  which  others  attempted,  but  in  which  notf 
vied  with  him.  It  was  Swift  who  arraigned  before  its  tribonsl 
all  that  poor  human  nature  fancied  it  had  of  most  revereot. 
Goethe  has  said  somewhere — with  what  truth  we  care  not  tc 
inquire — that  an  age  where  humour  is  strong,  is  generally  * 
thoughtless  age.     Be  that  as  it  may,  this  intense  and  sabtic 

hnmooTy 


English  Thought  in  the  Eighteenth  Century.  415 

bnmour,  with  its  shifting  phases,  its  subtle  blending  of  light 
and  shade,  its  deep-rooted  melancholy,  enriched  English  lite- 
rature and  helped  to  shape  English  thought;  and  it  did  so 
chieflj  through  the  work  of  Swift  and  Addison.  It  taught 
hnmaiiity  to  get  out  of  itself  for  the  moment,  and  laugh,  half- 
sadlj,  at  its  own  antics.  Whatever  it  was,  the  whole  tribe 
of  the  Deists  stood  either  immeasurably  above,  or  immeasurably 
below  it. 

The  development  of  this  humour,  when  from  politics  it  turned 
to  social  life,  is  the  phase  of  thought^which  we  would  consider  as 
next  in  order  of  time.  Its  representatives  are  all  of  them  men 
who,  from  Mr.  Stephen's  point  of  view,  get  at  the  most  a  very 
cunory  glance.  The  Deists  were  as  little  to  them  as  they  to 
the  Deists.  Swift  has  caricatured  the  would-be  philosophers  in 
tlie  sages  with  whom  he  has  peopled  Laputa.  Goldsmith  is 
never  tired  of  ridiculing  them.  '  To  acquire  a  character  for 
learning,'  he  says,  ^  among  the  English  at  present,  it  is  necessary 
to  know  much  more  than  is  either  important  or  useful.  It 
Kerns  the  spirit  of  the  times  for  men  here  to  exhaust  their 
nttnial  sagacity  in  exploring  the  intricacies  of  another  man's 
thought,  and  thus  never  to  have  leisure  to  think  for  themselves. 
Others  have  carried  on  learning  from  that  stage  when  the  good 
sense  of  our  ancestors  have  thought  it  too  minute,  or  too  specu- 
l^ve,  to  instruct  or  amuse.'  Or,  again;  ^The  most  trifling 
P^ormances  among  us  now  assume  all  the  didactic  stiffness  of 
wisdom.'  Fielding  has  ridiculed  the  freethinker  in  Square,  and 
|be  pedantic  refutation  of  freethinking  in  the  Ordinary's  sermon 
^  Jonathan  Wild.  Sterne  has  given  a  highly  wrought  picture 
^f  laborious  logomachy  in  Tristram's  father,  and  with  him  alone 
^^  gets  a  sort  of  contemptuous  sufferance ;  it  is  one  man's  hobby, 
■^  says,  let  him,  if  he  please  ride  it  to  the  death.  It  may  be  a 
sudden  impulse  will  come  to  make  the  steed  throw  his  rider,  or 
w  rider  dioose  another  steed  :  but  till  then,  ^  poor  devil,  there 
js  loom  in  the  world  for  thee  and  me.'  All  this  proves  that  the 
^^^oarists  were  not  inattentive  to  the  noisy  struggle  of  the 
Pedants  that  was  rag^g  to  its  close.  They  gauged  its  issues, 
*pd  stood  contemptuously  aloof.  What  was  their  own  contribu- 
tion to  the  thought  of  the  century  ? 

^  one  form  or  other — the  Essay,  the  prose  Idyl,  or  the  novel 
J>i  everyday  life, — they  all  turned  men  s  thoughts  directly  on 
^"^^vidual  character.  They  stript  away  the  uniform  and  the 
Passwords  of  sect  or  party,  and  forced  men  to  see  themselves 
••  they  actually  were.  They  put  on  one  level  the  pedant  and 
^^  schoolboy,  the  prude  and  the  village  hoyden.  Jones  finds 
^  philosophical   Mentor   Square  in   Moll's  bedroom:    Miss 

AUworthy 


416  Etiglish  Thought  in  the  EighteeiVth  Century. 

All  worthy  is  found  to  be  no  better  than  her  humbler  neighbovt^ 
They  deal  a  death-blow  to  cant,  because  they  show  men  wbs^ 
cant  is.     Before  the  rough  levelling  of  Fielding  and  Smollett,  i^ 
the  delicate  irony  of  Sterne,  the   mechanical   contrivanon  oC 
pedantry  fell  to  pieces.     To  Sterne,  gravity  was  only  a  myste- 
rious  carriage   of  the  body  to  hide  the  defects  of  the  mind. 
Sterne's  pathos,  which  Mr.  Stephen  places  low,  is  not,  as  be 
would  make  out,  the  main  constituent  of  his  genius,  but  only  * 
very   secondary   embellishment.     The   true    secret  of  Stenie*' 
power  lies  in  a  humour  which  stands  second  only  to  that  of 
Shakespeare,  if  second  even  to  his.     Mr.  Stephen's  accnsatioo 
of  the  prominence  of  the  cap  and  bells  with  Sterne  is  an  old 
one ;  and  it  very  little  affects  our  estimate  of  his  genius.    Stenie 
would  not  have  taken  the  trouble  to  deny  the  charge.     True,  he 
might  have  said,  ^  my  pathos  is  artificial — is  it  my  fault  if  human 
pathos  mostly  is  so  ?     You  detect  the  hollow  ring  behind  my 
laugh :  it  is  true  that  in  my  case  the  laugh  comes  from  a  half* 
wasted  skeleton :  but  can  the  broadest  and  soundest  chest  amon|^ 
us  give  a  hearty  laugh  for  long?     Call  this  sentimentalism  sad 
fooling,  if  you  will :  it  is  but  the  name  I  give  it  myself.    At 
the  most  you  have  only  one  more  sham  to  laugh  at.'    The  langh 
of  Fielding  and  Smollett  is  healthier  than  this,  but  it  has  the 
same  main  characteristic :  it  helps  to  detect  and  shake  away  die 
artificiality  of  human  nature,  and  to   build   a  broad  defence 
against  its  shams.    The  first  step  towards  this  is  to  expose  them- 
A  natural  result  of  this  humour,  both  in  its  heartier  and  in  its 
more  subtle  phases,  was  to  develop  just  after  the  middle  of  the 
century  a  strong  independence  of  thought,  which  ranged  firozD 
sturdy  common-sense  to  the   boldest  flights  of  a  fireethinkio^ 
quite  different  from  that  of  the  Deists.     Mr.  Stephen  traces  • 
sequence  from  the  writings  of  the  Deists  to  those  of  Home- 
But  whether  had  Hume  more  affinity  to  the  laborious  pedantry  <'f 
the  schools,  or  to  the  subtle  humour  which  had  grown  alongside 
of,  but  beyond,  them  ?     Hume's  ^  Philosophical  Essays '  were  die 
fruit  of  his  earlier  days ;  in  his  later  years  he  fought  shj  oi 
their  inferences.     Having  stated  with  a  calm  apathy,  that  htd 
little  to  connect  it  with  the  fretful  trivialities  of  his  predeoetfOiSf 
his  destructive  criticisms,  he  left  others  to  follow  them  up  '^ 
they  chose.     Hume  stands  almost  alone  as  a  sceptic ;  he  doef 
not  stand  alone  as  an  independent  thinker.     What  he  did  u^ 
one  direction,  Johnson,  who  stood  at  the  opposite  pole  of  thongb^ 
and    sympathy,  did   in   another.      The    cant   that   others  had 
laughed   at,   Johnson    fought   with,  and   tore   to   pieces.    Hif 
aversion  to  speculation,  such  as  he  saw  generally  £Btfhionable 

around  him,  was  only  one  side  of  his  character ;  the  main  wori^ 

he 


English  Thought  in  the  Eighteenth  Century^  417 

he  did  was  to  strive  against  what  he  believed  to  be  in  any  way 
untroe  or  unreal.  He  stands  out  in  the  century  with  a  personality 
more  marked  than  that  of  any  other  figure  there.  No  one  could 
with  more  truth  have  repeated  the  words  of  Chremes  in  the  play : 

<  Homo  sum  :  hmnani  nihil  a  me  alienum  puto.* 

No  question  of  real  human  interest  could  be  started  into  which 
Johnson  was  not  drawn,  as  it  were,  instinctively  :  and  no  man 
was  less  disposed  to  apply  to  such  a  question  the  formulae  of  a 
pedantic  system.  His  intellect,  far  from  resting  in  the  grooves 
it  had  formed  for  itself,  could  never  satisfy  itself  with  a  ready 
solution.  His  friends  complained  that  he  combated  one  day 
what  he  supported  the  next.  Strain  what  he  held  to  be  true 
only  a  little  too  far,  and  Johnson  at  once  saw  the  point  of  attack. 
He  could  detect  not  only  an  intellectual,  but  a  moral  fallacy,  as 
few  men  can  do.  Once  enlisted  in  a  cause,  his  habit  of  argu- 
ment and  his  force  of  advocacy  often  turned  him  into  a  special 
pleader,  who  used  even  fallacies  on  its  behalf.  But  authority, 
popular  or  customary  ideas,  the  inertness  of  intellectual  habits, 
were  absolutely  without  power  over  him.  *  He  has  no  formal 
piBparation,'  says  Boswell  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  *  no  flourish- 
uig  with  his  sword :  he  is  through  your  body  in  an  instant.' 

It  is  as  the  representative  of  this  strong  independence,  in  which, 
with  all  their  dissimilarities,  he  and  Hume  have  a  far  closer 
bnthip  than  either  has  with  the  *  semi-rationalistic '  Deists,  that 
Johnson  chiefly  affects  the  greater  movement  of  thought  in  the 
<^tury.  But  popular  feeling,  once  loosed  from  the  trammels 
that  80  long  had  held  it,  was  stirred  to  renewed  energies  by  a  still 
•^nger  and  farther-reaching  force.  The  arid  sands  of  theo- 
logical controversy  were  again  flooded  by  a  form  of  religion 
''Mch,  whatever  its  faults,  was  impelled  by  the  strong  current 
of  human  sympathy.  The  dreary  hairsplitting  of  the  schools 
8*ve  way  to  a  fresh  vitality  which  might  be  extravagant  in  its 
form,  but  was  animated  by  a  real  force  of  motive.  Mr.  Stephen's 
T^w  of  Wesley  and  his  work  seems  to  us  in  many  ways  defect 
^ve.  He  recognises  Wesley's  astonishing  energy,  his  untiring 
*^Tity,  his  power  of  organisation,  his  position  as  a  leader 
^ong  men.  But  the  higher  and  more  intellectual  side  of 
•^^ley  and  his  creed  is  hardly  noticed.  And  yet  here,  as  it 
•cems  to  us,  lies  the  chief  interest  of  the  movement.  We  should 
P'tfer  not  to  take  the  picture  of  Wesley  as  it  is  painted  for 
Jj  in  the  acrid  and  dreary  work  of  Mr.  Tyerman,  from  which 
Mr.  Stephen's  references  are  taken.  To  our  mind  the  *  Life '  by 
^they  gives  a  far  more  gracious  view  of  the  man  than  the 
'^ctarian  work  to  which  we  have  referred,  even  if  its  information 

Vol.  143.— iVb.  286.  2  E  is 


418  English  Thought  in  the  Eighteenth  Century. 

is  less  accurate  in  detail.  It  is  above  all  valuable,  became  it 
shows  us  the  growth  of  Wesley's  opinions,  and  the  phases 
through  which  he  passed  before  he  was  forced  into  schiim.  it 
shows  how  the  first  stirrings  of  the  new  movement  came, 
not  from  any  popular  revival,  at  the  head  of  which  Wesley 
placed  himself,  but  from  that  inward  and  personal  stniggle 
which  has  always  given  to  the  leaders  of  great  religious  move- 
ments their  first  impulse.  Wesley  was  first  moved  by  the 
*  De  Imitatione,'  and  it  is  to  this  that  he  traces  back  his  earliest 
impressions  of  an  enthralling  personal  religion.  But  the  book 
failed  to  satisfy  him ;  it  gave  him  the  idea  of  a  contemplatiTe 
religion,  but  it  did  not  supply  an  adequate  motive  for  uncon- 
ditional devotion.  But  what  this  failed  to  accomplish  was 
done  when  Wesley  went  back  to  the  older  English  theologians) 
when  he  drew  a  new  animation  from  those  richer  stores  of 
theological  literature,  on  which  the  Deist  controversy  had  not 
been  an  advance,  but  from  which  that  controversy  had  been  i 
retrogression.  Jeremy  Taylor  was  the  divine  whose  writings 
gave  him  the  sustenance  he  required.  From  him  Wesley  drev 
energy  for  asceticism,  and  enthusiasm  enough  to  dispense  witb 
the  common  pleasures  of  life.  When  ordained,  his  oidinatioD 
vows  wore  a  solemnity  that  was  based  on  those  High  Chuicb 
notions  that  mark  Wesley's  earliest,  and  in  great  measure  eren 
his  latest,  ecclesiastical  tendencies.  Schism  was  what  he  most 
abhorred.  Again  and  again  he  reiterates  his  adherence  to  the 
authority  of  the  Church  and  the  Fathers — the '  consensus  vetemfflj 
quod 

he  deserted 

of  uncouth  hypothesis.'  His  political  opinions  were  Jacobites 
and  in  1734  he  involved  himself  in  some  danger  by  preaching 
a  Jacobite  sermon.  He  was  an  opponent  of  the  Whig  Govern- 
ment of  Walpole.  He  says  of  himself  in  so  many  words,  *  Mj 
doctrines  are  in  the  strictest  sense  High  Church.*  In  the 
sermons  he  preached  at  St.  Mary's,  in  the  opinions  professed,  ^ 
the  notions  of  episcopal  authority  maintained  by  Wesley  and  his 
Oxford  brotherhood,  there  must  have  been  a  strange  resemblantf 
to  those  preached  exactly  a  hundred  years  later  in  St  MaiJ' 
by  one  who  still  lives  amongst  us.  From  this  earliest  attitouC 
Wesley  passed  into  a  phase  of  mysticism.  The  distrust  of 
mysticism  which  Mr.  Stephen  assigns  to  him  is  only  hiK 
understood,  unless  we  recollect  that  Wesley  has  passed  through 
a  mystic  stage  himself.  New  ideas,  he  tells  us,  grew  upon  hun 
as  he  became  acquainted  with  writers  ^  whose  noble  descriptions 
of  union  with  God  and  internal  religion  made  all  else  appeal 
mean,  flat,  and  insipid.     In  truth,  they  made  good  works  appear 

so 


AAV  7      VTA     \tMAX,    >.^AA1AA\/&A     Ubmava    1<AA\«     M.    (*t>JLft%^Al9  liA^«^         \^^^k^t9\*^m9\ILa     W  **•*«»  "        1 

omnibus,  quod  ubique,  quod  semper  creditum.'    Whenever 
serted  this  standpoint,  ^  1  am  lost,'  he  says,  *  in  the  labyrinth 


English  TItovLgkt  in  the  Eighteenth  Century.  419 

:oo :  yea,  and  faith  itself,  and  what  not  ? '  In  a  state  like 
(,  as  he  himself  says,  *  Love  is  all  :  all  the  commands  besides 
only  means  of  love :  thus  were  all  the  bonds  broke  at  once/ 
}at  this  phase,  too,  passed  away.  Wesley  shook  off  what  he 
;  to  be  a  danger  to  his  whole  being :  and  in  place  of  self- 
Itation  we  find  him  in  the  extreme  of  self-abasement.  ^  I 
re  learned,'  he  says,  '  in  the  ends  of  the  earth  that  my  whole 
trt  is  utterly  corrupt  and  abominable,  and  consequently  my 
ole  life  :  that  my  sufferings,  the  most  specious  of  them,  need 
atonement  for  themselves.'  But  it  was  not  long  after  that  yet 
)ther  step  was  taken,  and  that  the  subtle  variations  of  that  singu- 
\j  susceptible  mind  seemed  to  catch  something  from  without 
i  threw  them  into  a  definite  and  ever-narrowing  channel, 
therto  he  had  influenced  men  only  through  the  vivid  impres- 
Q  made  by  his  intense  fervour :  now  he  was  to  gain  a  new 
int  of  contact  wherewith  to  popularise  his  religious  ideas, 
iiat  is  known  in  religious  circles  as  the  assurance  of  personal 
vation  was  now  reached  by  Wesley.  He  chronicles  very 
Dutely  the  access  of  this  new  religious  concept.  At  a  meeting 
Aldersgate  in  1738,  *  about  a  quarter  before  nine,  I  felt  my 
irt  strangely  warmed :  I  felt  I  did  trust  in  Christ  for  salva- 
II.*  *  Before  this,'  he  goes  on,  *  I  was  striving,  yea  fighting 
th  all  my  might,  but  I  was  often  conquered ;  now  I  was 
rajs  conqueror.'  Now  began  the  miraculous  manifestations, 
those  strange  phenomena  in  which  he  turned  into  proofs  of  his 
evidential  mission,  what  were  the  natural  effects  of  his  own 
tent  and  impressive  genius. 

Fhis  last  change  at  once  laid  the  foundation  of  Wesley's  g^at 
bence  as  the  founder  of  a  sect,  and  finally  narrowed  his 
ellect  to  the  mould  of  a  popular  religionist'  We  have  traced 
I  development  of  his  ideas  at  some  length,  because  we  believe 
'.  Stephen,  in  assigning  to  Wesley  the  niche  which  he  sup- 
les  him  to  hold  in  the  historical  evolution  of  the  century,  has 
igned  far  too  little  weight  to  his  individual  character  and 
»irth.  To  him  Wesley  is  only  the  founder  of  a  sect  which 
«e  as  a  reaction  against  the  apathetic  listlessness  of  the 
arch.  He  is  not  the  ecstatic  enthusiast  of  those  early  Oxford 
^s :  he  is  not  the  hater  of  religious  iconoclasm  who  criticises 
excesses  of  reforming  zeal :  he  is  not  the  friend  of  Johnson, 
whom  Johnson  could  say  that  *  Mr.  Wesley  can  talk  ex- 
ently  of  anjrthing,'  and  with  whose  approbation  Johnson 
soles  himselif  for  the  lack  of  popular  applause.  Nor  do  we 
I  in  Mr.  Stephen's  picture  of  one  he  calls  a  *  human  game- 
i*  any  trace  of  that  profound  melancholy  which  links 
iley  to  the  deeper  spirit  of  his  age,  and  which  speaks  in 

2  £  2  words 


420  English  T/touffht  in  the  Eighteenth  Century. 

words  like  these:   *  After   carefully  heaping  up  the  itrong^ 
arguments  I  can  find  in  ancient  and  modem  authors  for  tne- 
very  being  of  a  God  and  the  existence  of  an  invisible  world,  ^ 
have  mused  with  myself,  What  if  all  these  things  which  1  s^ 
around  me,  this  heaven  and  earth,  this  universal  frame  ha^^^ 
existed  from  eternity  ?     What  if  it  be  true, 

What  if  the  generation  of  men  be  exactly  parallel  with  tb^ 
generation  of  leaves  ?  What  if  it  be  true,  death  is  nothing,  ai^^ 
there  is  nothing  after  death  ?  How  am  I  sure  that  this  is  0^^ 
the  case?  that  I  have  not  followed  cunningly  devised  &ble^- 
And  I  have  pursued  the  thought  till  there  was  no  spirit  in  m^^ 
and  I  was  ready  to  choose  strangling  rather  than  life.'  Surd  J 
the  man  who  wrote  thus  has  more  individual  interest  for  0^ 
than  merely  as  one  link  in  a  process  of  natural  development,  ^>i 
even  as  the  founder  of  a  sect  of  peculiarly  ^  narrow  range  acs^ 
defective  sympathies/ 

But  the  vigorous  independence  for  which  the  humourists  hsB^ 
paved  the  way,  which  Johnson  had  so  sturdily  asserted,  and  ^ 
which  Wesley  was  the  chief  religious  representative,  took  oth«^ 
directions  as  well.     We  have  not  space  to  follow  its  operatiosi 
in  the  domain  of  poetry.    Mr.  Stephen  shows,  with  much  critic^ 
subtlety,  that  the  first  impulse  which  turned  poetry  from  tb^ 
town  to  the  country  was  not  a  very  vigorous  one.     The  Natax< 
of  Thomson  and  Collins  and  Gray  was  a  very  demure  and  oori' 
ventional  goddess   after   all.     The  century  was  drawing  reTJf 
near  its  close  before  Burns  struck  the  first  far-ofF  note  that  ga^'* 
the  key  to  the  true  spirit  to  which  alone  Nature  could  yield  op 
her   secrets.      The   moral    and   philosophical   direction  whioli 
Wordsworth  gave  to  the  poetry  of  Nature  is  hardly  visible  befarp" 
the  century  has  closed ;  but  lingeringly  as  the  change  and  the 
re-awakening  came,  it  came  surely.     In  the  hands  of  Bums  1^ 
was  linked  with  a  scathing  denunciation  of  the  rancour  of  eccl^ 
siastical  hypocrisy  which  he  saw  around  him.     He  lashed  i^ 
and  tore  it  to  pieces,  and  made  it  the  laughing-stock  of  all  tb^ 
ages.     Mr.  Stephen  sees  in  this  a  work  accomplished,  one  bono 
the   less   to  gall  humanity,   one   step  gained   in   the  progress    : 
towards  emancipation.     Bums  might  not  know  that  he  was  an 
ally  of  Rousseau,  but  he  was  so,  we  are  to  understand,  all  the 
same.     Alas !  the  facts  in  this  one  case  might  go  far  to  dispel 
the  hopes  of  theory.     Is  the  ecclesiastical  rancour  which  Burns 
slew  a  whit  less  vivacious  in  our  own  day?     We  are  afrsid, 
however  strange  it  seems,  that  it  has  survived  even  the  *Holj 
Fair'  and  *  Holy  Willie's  Prayer.'     Hew  it  to  pieces  as  Bixn» 

mtahL 


English  Thought  in  the  Eighteenth  Century.  421 

[ght,  from   its  fragments  a   teeming  brood  has  grown,   and 
rings  vigorous  from  each  new  onslaught. 

The  same  temporary  re-awakening  may  be  seen  in  the  poli- 
ad  world  as  well  as  in  society,  religion,  and  literature.  The 
1  of  the  long  Whig  monopoly  in  1760  might  be  fraught  with 
xie  constitutional  danger  for  the  moment,  but  it  really  opened 
new  flood-gate  in  politics.  The  tendency  to  break  the 
stTmed  circle  of  aristocratic  cliques  was  visible  even  before 
5orge  III.  brought  back  the  Tory  squires  to  Court.  When  the 
ler  Pitt  forced  himself  and  his  foreign  policy  on  a  reluctant 
•urt,  and  made  Newcastle  submit  to  his  dictation,  the  govern- 
int  of  cliques  was  really  at  an  end.  In  his  open  deBance  of 
Btocratic  influence,  in  his  appeal  to  popular  enthusiasm,  in 
(  fierce  denunciation  of  political  corruption,  Pitt  did  for 
Litics  what  Johnson  did  for  literature,  what  Wesley  did  for 
igion.  Thwarting  influences  were  not,  indeed,  even  then 
sent.  The  phantom  of  divine  right  and  prerogative  again 
sed  its  head,  and  had  to  be  dissipated.  The  free  popular 
luence  wielded  by  Pitt  was  lost  to  the  Earl  of  Chatham, 
s  last  administration  forgot,  in  his  own  broken  health,  in  his 
ibittered  and  disdainful  spirit,  amid  the  scattering  of  his 
rty,  the  traditions  of  the  first.  The  work  he  had  begun  had 
'eady  fallen  into  a  maze  of  different  lines,  which  no  one  hand 
lid  gather  together  before  his  own  life  was  ended.  But 
>tigh  under  the  twelve  years  of  Lord  North's  administration, 
>vemment  seemed  again  to  have  contracted  itself  to  a  very 
KTow  basis,  this  was  only  the  superficial  aspect  of  things. 
>rth's  administration  was  the  very  opposite,  so  far  as  stability 
^  of  Walpole's  or  even  of  Pelham's.  It  was  at  most  a  make- 
^t ;  it  owed  its  continuance  to  no  strength  of  its  own,  but  to 
^nion  aniongst  its  enemies.  Its  defeat  in  time  was  a  matter 
absolute  certainty.  It  never  silenced  opposition  as  did  Wal- 
ole  and  Pelham ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  in  opposition  that 
^  whole  national  feeling  found  itself  expressed.  To  have 
i^ed,  and  still  more  to  have  taken  part  in  politics  under  Wal- 
ole  or  Pelham,  would  have  been  to  Burke,  and  Charles  James 
ox,  and  the  younger  Pitt,  one  prolonged  agony  and  torture. 
0  sit  in  the  House  under  North,  meant  only  that  they  should 
iflaence  the  Government  of  the  country  not  in  office,  but  in 
pposition.  There  was  no  stifling  heaviness  in  the  political 
mosphere ;  on  the  contrary,  one  at  least  of  the  three  statesmen 
bom  we  have  named  fixed  the  landmarks  of  English  poli- 
:al  ideas  much  as  they  have  remained  since  his  day.  When 
met  finally  was  centred  in  the  hands  of  Pitt  in  1784,  the 
rlier  years  of  his  ministry  reflected,  in  the  acts  of  Govern- 
ment, 


i2  English  Tlwught  in  the  Eighteenth  Century. 

nent,  all  the  new  notions  to  which  the  previouB  qnarter  of  * 
century  had  given  birth  and  consistence. 

Mr.  Stephen  pauses  before  the  last  decade  of  the  century,    l^ 
we  were  to  look  there  for  the  summing  up  of  its  results,  W^ 
should  find  but  little  to  support  any  theory  of  consistent  pro- 
gress.    Mr.  Stephen  sees  at  the  conclusion  of  the  century,  *  9S^ 
intellectual  chaos,  in  which  no  definite  movement  has  attaineo 
supremacy.'     We  should  rather  be  disposed  to  see  in  it  a  pericKl 
of  distinct   reaction.     The  political   volcano  which  upheave*! 
itself  abroad,  gave  birth  in  England,  for  the  most  part,  to  almost 
exaggerated  fears.     Such  fragments  of  associated  ideas  as  mail^ 
their  way  into  this  country  were  at  the  most  only  fitful  aa«l 
evanescent.     In  the  main,  the  feeling  they  created  was  that  o^ 
intense  repulsion.     It  was  the  same  with  the  religious  fervour  o^ 
Wesley,  the  political  aspirations  of  Burke,  the  poetical  instinct 
of  Burns.      The  last  dreads  the  revolutionary  tyranny  of  th 
mob,  as  much  as  the  first  dreads  its  reckless  impiety,  or  th< 
second  its  heedless  breaking  with  a  hallowed  past.     England  i 
plunged  into  a  war,' at  first  urged  by  motives  of  blind  fear  of  rev( 
lutionary  infection,  and  afterwards  renewed  for  the  very  existenr^?^ 
of  European  liberty.     Up  to  1792,  Pitt  had  educated  the  Tory 
party.     He  had  made  that  party  the  instrument  of  progressir^? 
reform,  of  expanded  economical  ideas.     But  the  revolutioiiar^~ 
excesses  of  France  coloured  all  reform  with  the  taint  of  revc^  " 
lution,  and  Pitt's  party  took  the  bit  between  their  teeth.    Fc^*" 
ten  years  more  he  governed — the  apparent  autocrat,  the  re»-l 
instrument,  of  his  party.      The  schemes  he  had  once  cheiishe«3 
were  abandoned  ;  he  was  forced  to  pursue  a  war  which  he  hated  •-- 
and  his  life  closed  amid  clouds  and  thick  darkness.     Englan^-^ 
was  in  the  throes  of  a  great  struggle,  the  necessity  for  which  w^ 
would  be  the  last  to  deny;  but  her  chief  characteristic  duria^ 
that  darkest  hour  was  not  free  expansion,  or  the  sanguine  hope^ 
fulness  of  progress,  but  rather  the  concentrated  detenninitio^ 
of  a  lifc-and-death  combat.     It  was  with  clenched  teeth  aa<* 
bated  breath  that  she  entered  on  the  fight. 

We  have  thus  attempted  to  give,  in  the  merest  outline,  our 
view  of  a  century  which  opened  with  a  period  of  political  / 
exhaustion  and  moral  cynicism,  which  found  in  that  very  ex- 
haustion and  cynicism  the  powerful  instrument  of  humour  whicb 
was  to  strip  away  disguise  and  brace  the  age  to  a  new  vitality  r 
a  century  which,  when  it  had  run  more  than  half  its  coon^) 
gave  the  most  striking  instances  of  that  renewed  vitality  in  the 
strong  independence  and  the  bold  flights  of  genius:  only  to 
close  at  last  amid  the  clouds  and  thick  darkness  of  an  atmo- 
sphere crowded  with  terrors  on  every  side.     We  have  followeil 

the 


George  Sand.  423 

tke  salient  features  only  of  Its  thought,  instead  of  examining  in 
detail,  as  Mr.  Stephen  has  done,  any  one  of  its  directions.  The 
Deist  controversy,  to  which  the  greater  part  of  his  book  is 
devoted,  we  think  singularly  dull  in  itself,  and  we  are  disposed 
to  set  its  influence  upon  the  general  course  of  thought  much 
b^rer  than  he  does.  We  would  attribute  less  to  any  consistent 
la-vr  of  evolution,  and  more  to  the  force  of  individual  genius  and 
temperament  than  Mr.  Stephen  does.  But  this  does  not  prevent 
our  acknowledging  what  we  owe  to  his  critical  insight  and  con- 
scientious research,  even  though  from  many  of  his  conclusions 
we  are  bound  to  enter  our  dissent. 


Art.  V. — Histoire  de  Ma    Vie.     Par  George  Sand.     Nouvelle 

edition.     Paris,  1876. 

NEARLY  forty  years  have  passed  since  George  Sand,  at 
that  time  the  most  widely-talked-of  woman  in  Europe, 
wa.^   meditating   in   her  garden   at   Nohant.     A   weariness   ojf 
l^f^    and  work,  and  of  the  babel  of  good  and  evil  report,  had 
^^k^n  possession  of  her  mind,  as  she  sat  in  the  little  grotto 
x^ti^xch  her  mother  had  built  with  her  own  hands.     The  idea  of 
^c&^lng  her  strength  by  some  physical  feat,  and  of  thereby  finding 
r^c>'tmd  for  a  guess  as  to  the  number  of  days  that  might  remain 
^   I:^er,  occurred  to  her  fancy.    She  tried  to  raise  one  of  the  heavy 
^^<^x^es  of  the  rockwork  in  her  arms,  and,  lifting  it  with  ease, 
]  AwVi!  mon  Dieu,'  she  cried,  *j'ai  peut-etre  encore  quarante  ans 
*  "^^ivre.*     She  lived  to  accomplish  almost  the  exact  number  of 
^^^    years  of  her  prediction,  and  her  recent  death  removed  a 
^^^rary  force  which  was  not  abated  by  extreme  age,  though  its 
iB^^Miifestations  had  little  active  influence  on  politics  or  society. 
^"*xt  though  George  Sand's  stream  of  new  novels  no  longer  agi- 
sted people  as  her  early  tales  had  done,  it  is  still  extremely 
A^fficnlt  to  reach  any  fair  estimate  of  her  talent  and  character. 
S^ch  an  estimate  it  must  always  be  hard  to  form,  when  a  person 
of  genius  has  just  left  the  world  in  which  his  memory  is  still 
fresh,  and  his  conduct  still  a  disturbing  force  for  good  or  evil. 
The  right  perspective  can  scarcely  be  found,  and  prejudices  on 
one  side  or  the  other  confuse  the  vision.     But  the  task  becomes 
harder  still  when  the  person  to  be  criticised  is  a  woman,  and 
when  the  sphere  in  which  her  influence  was  most  disturbing  is 
precisely  that  of  the  domestic  duties  and  consecrated  relations 
which  have  been  established  by  the  common  consent  of  universal 
experience  and  sanctified  by  religion. 

It 


424  George  Sand. 

It  is  tolerably  certain  that  George  Sand's  enduring  fame  vi^^ 
be  that  of  an  artist  in  words,  of  a  painter  of  life  ;  not — as  migl^^ 
once  have  been  expected  by  her  friends  and  foes — of  a  thinks 
a  philosopher,  or  of  a  disturber  of  society.     In  the  thirtj-foi 
years  of  incessant  toil  which  remained  to  her  after  the  day  E    ^ 
the  garden  of  Nohant,  she  did  not  give  up  the  hope  of  moving-  S 
the  world  in  the  direction  of  her  own  changeful  ideas.    H^^^^ 
romances    continued    to   express    her   opinions    on    the    soci^^^^ 
questions  of  the  day.     In  1848  she  actually  entered  into  th— 
lists  of  party,  and  appealed  to  the  working  classes  in  her  owi^ 
name.     But   she   early  shot   her  bolt,  and   early   reached  thi 
summit  of  notoriety.     Long  before  her  death  she  had  descendec:: — -J 
into  stiller  air,  and  had  taken  up  the  position  of  a  clever  anc: 
fertile  story-teller.     The  terrible  George  Sand,  the  man-woman^ 
the  unsexcd  and  emancipated  creature,  came  to  be  content  wil 
the  part  of  Grandmother  and  of  Lady  Bountiful.     It  is  possible 
to  trace  the  slow  evolution  through  a  variety  of  processes. 

None  of  George  Sand's  century  of  romances  is  so  interesting 
as  the  narrative  of  her  own  life,  the  account  of  her  feverisl^^^ 
struggles,  her  disappointments,  and  her  resignation.      To 
that  story  truly  is  a  delicate,  and  sometimes  the  reverse  of  ai 
engaging  task  ;  but  it  is  one  from  which  she  herself  but  rarelj 
recoiled.     No  woman  ever  was  further  from  adopting  the 
view  of  woman's  honour.     None  was  ever  more  talked  abont 
and  few  have  talked  so  much  in  public  about  themselves, 
success  of  no  author  since  Byron  depended  more  on  the  per- 
sonal element  in    the  work,  on  the  exciting  glimpses  of  th< 
powerful  character  which  worked  the  puppets  on  the  romantii 
stage,  and   spoke  every  now  and  then  in    a   natural  voice,  (^ 
revealed  an  indignant,  a  resigned,  or  a  despairing  face  unmaskf 
It  was  an  open  secret  that  many  of  George  Sand's  novels 
woven  out  of  her  own  experience ;   that  many  of  her  persoi 
were  elaborate  studies  of  men  and  women  she  had  known,  or  wet 
at  least  ideal  developments  of  the  dispositions  of  living  people 
It  was  the  strangeness  of  her  private  life,  and  the  many  stone 
about  her,  that  6rst  caused   intense  excitement  about  her  earl, 
writings.     All  through  her  career  she  kept  up  a  personal  relatio: 
with  her  readers,  telling  them  in  prefaces  to  her  novels,  or  i^ 
*  Les  Lettres  d'un  Voyageur,'  something  about  her  own  state  c^x 
mind,  and  her  own  judgment  of  her  performances.     Of  course 
it  was   never  the  real  George  Sand  that  appeared  in  these  coi»^ 
fidences,  but  the  ideal  George  Sand  of  the  moment.     The  sam^ 
half-imaginary  being  is  the  heroine  of  *L'Histoire  de  Ma  ^i^> 
a  book  very  useful  to  the  student  of  the  psychology  of  Madai"^ 
Dude  van  t.      The  incomplete  autobiography  has  been  called  a 

romance} 


George  Sand.  425 

nance  ;  but  at  least  it  states  events  as  the  writer  preferred  to 
nk  that  they  happened,  and  displays  her  as  she  saw  herself  in 
^  mirror  of  her  own  fantasy.  With  all  these  materials,  and 
th  the  hints  of  other  authors  who  knew  her,  but  whose 
.dence  must  be  received  with  a  good  deal  of  caution,  it  is  not 
possible  to  make  a  guess  at  what  manner  of  woman  the 
I jsterious  Lelia '  really  was.  Probably  the  result  will  not  go 
prove  that  she  was  a  model  of  almost  superhuman  fairness 
i  devotion,  which  is  nearly  her  own  view  of  her  character ; 
r  that  she  was  the  impious  assailant  of  society,  who  cam^ 
ne  drunk  from  parties  at  the  barriers  with  Pierre  Le  Roux, 

certain  of  her  enemies  said  ;  nor  that  she  was  the  cruel 
npire  who  lived  on  men's  hearts  and  brains,  and  ruined  their 
es  and  fame,  as  a  few  of  her  lovers  were  accustomed  to 
rlare.  She  was  a  woman,  not  without  noSility  of  heart,  and 
e  pity  for  the  '  deep  sighing  of  the  poor ;'  a  woman  with 
^ogth  beyond  that  of  her  sex,  often  unjust,  and  yet  full  of 
iging  for  a  justice  not  made  manifest  on  earth.*  She  was 
rne  by  her  own  courage  and  intellectual  energy  into  the 
ipest  of  opinions,  and  was  tossed  hither  and  thither  among 
Kcrupulous  men,  for  whom  she  was  more  than  a  match.  George 
id  played  and  won  in  a  game  from  which  all  other  women 
''e  risen  losers  ;  and  she  outlived  and  outlasted  more  easily 
•n  did  the  men  with  whom  her  lot  was  cast  the  stormy  succes- 
CI  of  passions  and  the  aberrations  of  purpose  and  of  belief, 
r'haps  her  very  best  qualities  became  snares  to  her,  for  her  ver- 
Llity  was  so  great  and  eager  that  no  camp  could  hold  her  long ; 
ile  her  keen  sense  of  her  natural  nobility  obscured  her  view  of 
a  on  her  part  that  were  just  the  reverse  of  noble.  Her  severest 
U.CS  must  allow  her  the  praise,  if  it  be  praise,  of  having  risen 
^erior  to  some  of  the  weaknesses  of  her  sex,  while  her  most  in- 
dent admirers  must  admit  that  good  women,  when  compared 
li  her,  are  truly  *  things  enskied  and  sainted.'  No  one  in  any 
e  can  deny  that  the  circumstances  of  George  Sand's  life  and 

"wild  blood  in  her  veins  prepared  for  her  singular  temptations 
1  unwonted  dangers. 

r'he  critical  method  of  Sainte-Beuve  and  of  M.  Taine,  the 
thod  which  looks  on  a  writer  as  the  result  of  his  ancestry,  of 
-  influences  of  his  place  of  birth,  and  of  his  personal  history,  has 
'ely  had  so  interesting  a  subject  to  treat  as  George  Sand.     She 


In  a  short  letter  to  M.  Ulbftch,  written  in  1869,  and  printed  at  the  end  of 
'  xiew  edition  of  her  autobiography,  Grcorge  Band  says  tbat  she  had  earned  a 
^Uon  of  francs  by  her  pen,  and  had  given  all  away,  except  20,000  francs ; 
lid  I  am  not  likely  to  keep  this  capital,  for  there  are  sure  to  oe  people  in  need 
it" 

herself 


426  George  Sand. 

herself  disliked  the  fatalism  of  this  fashion  in  criticism ;  and 
while  she  believed  in  ^  inherited  tendencies '  as  the  fatal  element 
in  character,  believed  also  in  what  she  rather  vaguely  styled* a 
counteracting  grace.'    Her  own  genius  and  personality,  however, 
may,  with  a  little  ingenuity,  be  apportioned  among  her  Tarions 
progenitors.    Amantine  Lucille  Aurore  Dupin  was  bom  in  1804, 
the  child  of  Maurice  Dupin,  and  of  his  lately-married  mistress, 
Antoinette  Sophie  Victoire  Delaborde,  the  daughter  of  a  bird- 
catcher  and  dealer  in  birds.     On  both  sides  the  strain  of  blood 
was  wild  enough,  as  will  appear  from  a  glance  at  the  pedigree,  in 
which  bends  sinister  are  the  rule.     Frederick  Augustas,  King  of 
Saxony,  called  the  Strong,  was  father,  by  Aurora  von  Konigsmarck, 
of  Marshal  Saxc.     The  Marshal,  in  his  turn,  honoured  with  his 
attentions  a  certain  Mdlle.  Verrieres,  or  Rinteau,  of  the  Open, 
and  Marie  Aurore  Kinteau  or  Verrieres,  or  by  courtesy  De  Saxe, 
was  the  daughter  of  the  Marshal  and  the  singer.     This  ladj, 
the  grandmother  of  George  Sand,  and  almost  the  only  decent! j- 
conducted    person    in   the    genealogy,   was    protected    by  the 
Dauphiness,  a  niece  of  Marshal  Saxe,  and  was  admitted  to  the 
famous  school  for  daughters  of  the   poor  noblesse,  established 
by  Madame  de  Maintenon  at  St.  Cyr.     While  still  very  yonng, 
she  was  nominally  married  to  Count  Horn,  a  natural  son  of 
Louis  XV.,  and,  after  the  Count  was  slain  in  a  duel,  she  went 
back  to  her  dubious  old  mother,  in  whose  house  she  met  Buffon, 
La   Harpe,   and    Voltaire.     When    Mdlle.    Rinteau  died,  she 
appealed  in  vain  for   assistance  to   the   great  philosopher  and 
had  to  retire  to  a  convent,  from  which  she  emerged  at  the  age 
of  thirty,    and   married   M.    Dupin    de   Franceuil,  the  patron 
of  Rousseau.      Madame   Dupin   had  *  but   one    child   by  this 
marriage,  namely,   Maurice,  the  father  of  George  Sand.    She 
was  left  a  widow  after  about  twelve  years  of  matrimony,  and 
was  involved  in  the  dangers  of  the  Revolution.     Only  a  cruelty 
as  indiscriminating  as  that  of  the  Terror  could  have  brought 
this  lady,  whose  quiet  life  was  mainly  passed  in  her  own  house 
of  Nohant,  in  Berri,  within  peril  of  the  guillotine.     By  a  freak 
of  fate  her  prison  was  shared  by  the  girl  who  was  to  be  the 
wife  of  her  son.     Mdlle.  Delaborde,  the  bird-catcher's  daughter, 
had  been  one  of  the  supernumeraries  in  the  vast  Republican 
spectacle.     As  the  prettiest  girl  of  her  quarter,  she  had  been 
chosen  to  present  La  Fayette  with  a  rosy  wreath,  which  the 
Cromwell  Grandison  replaced,  with  a  neat  speech,  on  the  blonde 
head  of  the  giver.     Falling  afterwards  from  the  purity  of  h^"^ 
civic  virtue,    Mdlle.    Delaborde  was  found  singing  a  rojabst 
ballad,    and    was   immured    in   the    Convent    des    Anglais^ 

Maurice  Dupin  may  have  seen  her  there  when  he  went  to  visit 

bis 


GeoJ'ffe  Sand.  427 

his  mother,  but  their  paths  in  life  did  not  cross  till  some  six 
years  had  passed. 

Nothing  can  g^ve  a  more  vivid  idea  of  the  moral  tone  of  the 
society  in  which  the  future  novelist  was  educated  than  the 
letters  of  Maurice  to  his  mother.  M.  Taine  has  used  these  and 
other  documents  published  by  George  Sand  in  his  new  his- 
tory of  France  before  the  Revolution.  The  young  soldier — for 
Maurice  joined  the  army  of  Italy — communicates  his  amour 
with  the  utmost  frankness  to  his  mother,  a  lady  of  strict  virtue. 
*On  savait  vivre  et  mourir  en  ce  temps,'  says  her  admiring 
granddaughter,  and  she  has  drawn  in  *'  Valentine,'  as  well  as  in 
her  memoirs,  -a  picture  of  a  rouged  and  jewelled  old  lady,  who 
was  ^I'esclave  d'un  savoir  vivre  aimable.'  Madame  Dupin's 
amiable  wisdom  listened  with  pleasure  to  the  tale  of  the  loves 
of  her  son  and  of  Mademoiselle  Delaborde,  who  by  this  time 
was  advanced  to  be  the  mistress  of  the  General  under  whom 
Maurice  served.  It  was  on  the  eve  of  the  battle  of  Asola  (1800) 
that  young  Dupin,  in  a  letter  to  his  mother,  described  a  touching 
scene  with  *  the  dearest  of  women.'  Next  day  he  was  a  prisoner 
in  the  hands  of  the  Austrians;  but  in  February  1801,  he 
managed  to  find  his  way  back  to  his  comrades  and  to  Mdlle. 
Delaborde. 

From  this  date  the  life  of  Maurice  entered  into  a  cycle  of 
domestic  storms,  which  raged  about  the  childhood  of  his  dis- 
tinguished daughter.  *  His  heart  was  rent  by  two  irreconcilable 
aflTections.'  When  he  paid  a  visit  to  Nohant,  Mdlle.  Delaborde 
followed  him,  took  up  her  quarters  at  the  inn,  defied  the  au- 
thorities, and  greatly  vexed  Madame  Dupin,  who,  with  all  her 
delightful  savoir  vivrCy  did  not  easily  reconcile  herself  to  an 
attachment  which  threatened  to 'end  in  a  mesalliance.  Her  fears 
were  well  founded,  for  in  1804  her  son  married  Antoinette 
Delaborde,  a  month  or  two  before  the  birth  of  Aurore.  It  is 
not  without  reason  that  George  Sand  has  been  blamed  for 
making,  in  all  this  long  story,  the  confessions  of  other  people, 
when  she  should  have  confined  herself  to  writing  her  own. 
Looking  at  the  matter  with  the  eye  of  disinterested  science, 
George  Sand,  perhaps,  wished  her  readers  to  detect  the  various 
ancestral  qualities  which  were  combined  in  her  own  character. 
Just  as  the  fire  and  endurance  of  Marshal  Saxe,  and  the  artistic 
taste  of  Mdlle.  Verrieres  of  the  Opera,  came  to  the  novelist 
through  her  grandmother,  so  she  derived  from  her  mother  the 
passionate  instincts  of  a  daughter  of  the  peasant-class.  Again, 
the  constant  struggle  between  the  mother  and  the  grandmother 
for  the  possession  of  the  girl's  affection  embittered  her  early  life, 
and  gave  her  the  first  experience  of  the  passion  of  jealousy, 

which 


428  George  Sand. 

which  she  afterwards  described  with  such  subtle  power.  From 
her  very  earliest  years  she  lived  in  the  midst  of  domestic  broils 
and  of  public  turmoil,  and  her  character  could  not  fail  to  be 
affected  by  the  view  of  quarrels  at  home,  as  well  as  by  the 
excitement  of  days  of  triumph  at  Paris,  and  of  days  of  battle  in 
her  journey  through  Spain.  When  she  was  only  three  yean 
old  she  was  held  up  above  the  crowd  to  catch  the  eyes  of 
Napoleon.  When  she  was  four,  she  crossed  the  Pyreneci 
with  her  mother,  and  joined  her  father  in  a  palace  at  Madrid. 
Maurice  Dupin  was  on  the  staff  of  Murat,  and,  to  please  bis 
General,  had  his  little  girl  dressed  in  a  boy's  suit  of  uniform. 
It  is  almost  touching  to  note  the  stress  which  she  lays  on  tbis 
early  precedent  for  her  scandalous  experiment  of  wearing  men's 
clothes.  Nothing  in  her  years  of  Sturm  und  Drang  so  much 
offended  common  decency,  and  there  is  no  act  in  her  life  for 
which  she  makes  so  many  half-apologies. 

No  part  of  George  Sand's  Memoirs  is  more  interesting  than 
the  description  of  the  development  of  her  own  genius.  To 
remember  the  dreams  and  confusions  of  childhood,  never  to 
lose  the  recollection  of  the  curiosity  and  simplicity  of  that 
age,  is  one  of  the  gifts  of  the  poetic  character.  A  keen  sense 
of  her  own  personality,  an  unwearied  pleasure  in  contem- 
plating her  own  mental  growth  and  mentsJ  changes,  was  aided 
in  George  Sand  by  a  remarkable  tenacity  of  memory.  She 
lost  nothing  that  had  once  impressed  her,  and  the  abiding 
influence  of  the  affections  of  her  youth,  of  old  friendships 
before  passion  entered  into  her  life,  of  attachment  to  country 
places,  of  sentimental  regret  for  beliefs  once  passionately 
held,  prevented  her  from  reaching  the  same  blank  end  of 
speculation  as  that  at  which  Sainte-Beuve  arrived.  In  many 
respects  their  characters  were  alike ;  George  Sand  herself 
noticed  the  resemblance.  Both  were  *  preoccupied  with  things 
divine,'  both  wandered  into  the  camps  of  various  creeds,  both 
had  a  period  of  fervent  Catholic  belief.  But  George  Sand  fdt 
through  all  her  career  the  enduring  hold  of  orthodox  opinion, 
and  it  was  perhaps  to  the  tenacity  of  the  impressions  of  her 
girlhood  that  she  owed  her  unshaken  faith  in  certain  important 
doctrines  of  religion.  Her  powerful  memory  widened  her  syn*' 
pathies  in  another  and  very  different  way.  She  was  enabled 
to  recall  the  *  mol  ennui '  of  days  passed  in  the  cradle,  and  the 
faint  reflections  of  hours  of  childish  pastimes.  She  was  ali^^j 
as  most  clever  children  are,  to  the  mysterious  hints  of  an  un- 
known world  of  poetry,  which  are  uttered  even  in  the  burdens  oi 
nursery  ballads.  For  example,  when  she  joined  in  the  dancci 
of  little  girls  of  her  own  age,  the  chorus  of — 


George  Sand.  429 

'  Nous  n'irons  pins  anx  bois, 
Les  lauriers  sont  coupes/ 

used  to  waken  in  her  endless  musings.  ^  Je  me  retirai  dc  la 
danse  pour  j  penser,  ct  je  tombais  dans  une  grande  melancolie ; 
je  n*en  ai  jamais  perdu  Timpression  mysterieuse.'  Even  before 
she  was  old  enough  to  join  hands  in  the  dance  the  future 
novelist  had  composed  fictions  for  her  own  amusement.  In  her 
day-dreams  the  Queen  of  Fairies,  La  Grande  Fade^  rode  through 
the  endless  forest,  and  heaped  benefits  on  countless  princes  and 
princesses.  Prisoned  between  four  chairs,  for  she  was  an 
active  and  mischievous  child,  the  little  girl  made  herself  happy 
with  these  inventions,  in  which  she  herself  was  always  the 
heroine  in  disguise.  Indeed,  through  most  of  her  printed  novels 
it  is  easy  enough  to  detect  an  idealised  portrait  of  the  author  in 
one  or  other  of  her  moods. 

The  *  Stories  between  four  Chairs '  naturally  ended  after  the 
return  from  Spain  to  the  house  at  Nohant.  The  child  became 
strong  enough  to  wander  about  in  the  fields  and  drink  in  with 
delight  the  sweet  air  of  the  country.  Next  to  the  transmitted 
forces  of  her  ancestry,  no  appreciable  influence  entered  so  strongly 
into  the  genius  of  George  Sand  as  that  of  natural  beauty.  It 
may  be  worth  while  to  quote  from  *  Valentine '  a  description  of 
the  land  she  knew  and  loved : — 

*  The  south-eastern  division  of  Berri  contains  some  leagues  of 
singularly  picturesque  scenery.  As  the  highway  which  crosses  the 
country  and  runs  from  Paris  to  Clermont  is  surrounded  by  the 
more  cultivated  and  populous  districts,  the  traveller  scarcely  suspects 
the  beauty  of  the  neighbouring  landscape.  But  the  wayfarer  who,  in 
search  of  shade  and  silence,  penetrates  into  one  of  the  deep  and 
winding  lanes,  which  at  frequent  intervals  open  on  the  main  road, 
will  find  himself  suddenly  among  fresh  and  quiet  scenes,  meadows 
of  the  softest  green,  brooks  with  a  certain  sadness  in  tiieir  song, 
groups  of  alders  and  of  mountain  ash,  Nature  full  of  sweetness  and 
pastoral  melancholy.  Within  a  radius  of  many  miles  it  would  bo 
useless  to  look  for  a  house  built  of  stone  and  with  a  slated  roof.  At 
most  a  slender  thread  of  blue  smoke,  wavering  behind  the  leaves, 
may  proclaim  the  neighbourhood  of  a  cottage.  If  the  wanderer 
marks  beyond  the  knoll  the  spire  of  a  little  church,  within  a  few 
paces  he  will  discover  a  bell-tower  of  red  tHes,  fretted  with  lichens ; 
a  dozen  scattered  cots,  with  their  gardens,  and  plots  of  ground ;  a 
stream  with  its  bridge  of  three  planks  ;  a  graveyard  of  an  acre,  sur- 
rounded by  a  quick-set  hedge ;  four  elms  in  a  quincunx,  and  a  ruined 
tower.     The  whole  composes  what  is  called  a  hourg  in  the  country.' 

The  child  of  the  chateau  lived  much  with  the  peasant  children, 
and  wandered  with  them  far  a-field.     She  listened  to  the  old 

monotonous 


430  George  Sand. 

monotonous  chants  of  the  ploughmen,  and  to  the  song  of  tl 
swineherd,   fragments  of  pre-Christian  antiquity.     She  hea^^ 
the  traditional  lore   of  the   flax-spinners,  and    found  that  tt^^ 
country  people  could  see  things  hidden  from  her  eyes.     Tht-^* 
her  companions  would  be  terrified  by  La  Grand*  Bete^  a  flyinp  i& 
and  shapeless  horror  of  the  night,  or  by  the  sounds  of  horns  an. 
hounds  when  Arthur  s  hunt  (Le  Grand  Veneur)  was  up,  whiE  • 
she  heard  and  saw  nothing  but  the  common  sights  and  noiscr^ 
of  the  summer  woodlands.     She  never  had  the  fortune  to  meer 
Le  Meneur  de  LoupSj  the  warlock  shepherding  his  evil  flock  o^ 
wolves,  nor  the  golden  bull  that  guards  the  hidden  treasures  o 
the  old  town  of  Boussac.     Perhaps  the  most  interesting  of  hei 
writings  on  this  subject  is  the  little  story  of  *  Mouny  Robin, 
a  poacher  gifted  with  the  *  second  sight.'  *     When  she  came 
be  a  woman  she  recognised  in  the  rural  superstitions  materials 
for  a  French  series  of  romances  in  the  manner  of  Scott.     Sher* 
imitated  the  great  master  in  her  use  of  popular  traditions,  though, 
her   peasants,    reflective    and  serious    creatures,    unconsciously^ 
filled  with  the  secret  meanings  of  natural  beauty,  are  not  very 
like  Scott's  shrewd  and  humorous  Lowlanders. 

The  peaceful  tenor  of  life  at  Nohant  was  very  early  broken, 
by  the  death  of  George  Sand's  father,  who  was  killed  by  a  falL 
from  his  horse.  Here  ensued  a  series  of  quarrels  between  the^ 
old  Madame  Dupin  and  her  daughter-in-law.  There  were  jour— 
neys  to  and  fro  between  Nohant  and  Paris,  in  which  the  lorest:^ 
of  Orleans,  haunted,  not  by  fairies,  but  by  the  bodies  of  robbers, 
hung  in  chains  on  the  scene  of  their  misdeeds,  had  to  be^ 
traversed. 

In  Paris,  about  this  period,  George  Sand   says  that  she  firs'^;. 
began  to  exercise  her  natural  powers  of  observation  in  the  society 
of  old  canons  and  old  countesses.     She  was  also  subject  to  st. 
kind  of  involuntary  visions,  in  which  she  beheld  with  the  clear- 
ness of  actual  sight  the  adventures  of  the  Great  Army  of  Napoleori. 
in  its  march  through  the  Russian  snows.     It  is  not  easy  to  un- 
derstand the  sort  of  hallucinations  which  George  Sand  declares 
to  have  '  possessed  and  fatigued  her.'     They  were  probablj  the 
day-dreams  of  childhood,  which  reached  extraordinary  distinct- 
ness in  an  imagination  naturally  active,  and  may  be  fancifully 
compared  to  the  forms  which  children  arc  said  to  behold  in  the 

♦  It  is  curious  to  compare  the  account  of  Mouny  Robin's  claiirojaooe  with 
that  of  the  second-sighted  £orl  given  in  the  Njal's  Saga.  It  is  almost  oartai^ 
that  George  Sand  hud  never  read  the  Icelandic  legend,  and  yet  her  deecriptionjj' 
Mouny  Kobin*s  trances,  and  mode  of  finding  out  where  the  game  was  o(moe«l*?» 
is  like  a  translation  of  the  Eorl's  doings,  when  he  wanted  to  detect  a  fujritiTe  m 
his  ambush.  The  coincidence  may  be  traced  to  similarity  of  French  and  No"^ 
superstition.     La  Grand*  Bete,  under  another  name,  is  known  in  Yorkahire.  , 

ink 


George  Sand.  431 

of  Egyptian  necromancers  before  the  entrance  of  the  great 
onary  procession  which  magic  summons  into  their  sight.  The 
ins  of  the  future  novelist  declared  itself  in  a  more  commen- 
ce way,  and  before  she  was  twelve  she  began  to  write 
tches  in  prose.  Her  first  efforts  were  descriptions  of  her 
>urite  Valine  noire  by  moonlight,  and  it  may  be  remarked 
t  her  poetic  talent  never  found  in  later  life  more  congenial 
jects  than  in  the  scenery  of  Berri,  and  in  the  mysterious 
cts  of  twilight  or  of  a  moonlit  sky.  Readers  of  her  stories 
I  remember  the  sleeping  flowers  in  the  canon's  garden,  in '  Con- 
lo ;'  the  scene  of  the  migration  of  the  swallows  in  *  Mauprat ; ' 
i  the  page  on  the  noises  of  the  night  in  *  Un  Hiver  a  Ma- 

fue.' 
he  day-dreams  of  childhood,  on  which  George  Sand  dwells 
h  pleasure,  were  interrupted  after  her  first  communion.    The 
quarrel  for  the  possession  of  her  affections  broke  out  anew 
ween  her  mother  and  grandmother,  and,  by  way  of  a  com- 
mise,  she  was  sent  to  the  Convent  des  Anglaises  in  Paris, 
eould  be  pleasant  enough,  if  space  permitted,  to  quote  from 
amusing  description  of  convent  life,  to  note  the  freaks  of 
diahleSy  or  naughty  girls,  and   to   follow   their   midnight 
rches  for  the  victim  whom  the  worthy  nuns  were  supposed 
lave  walled  up  in  some  secret  cell.    In  a  study  of  the  develop- 
it  of  George  Sand's  character,  however,  it  is  only  necessary 
nark  a  moment  of  ecstatic  devotion,  a  conversion,  and  re- 
on  against  the  influences  of  her  earlier  education.    Although 
faith  failed,  and  her  orthodox  belief  passed  away ;  although 
went  through  a  period  of  mocking  despair,  she  never  ba- 
le a  renegade  from  the  sentiment  of  her  short-lived  pietism. 
'■  retained  the  feeling  of  the  value  of  religion,  and  her  girlish 
'our  was  transmuted  into  the  ardour  of  her  original  or  bor- 
ed schemes  of  theosophy.     The  trace  always  remained  in  a 
tain  earnestness  and  unction,  which  often  appear,  strangely 
Ugh,  in  the  midst  of  romances  the  reverse  of  edifying,  and 
ich,  no  doubt,  helped  George  Sand  to  believe  tenaciously  in 
purity  of  her  own  productions. 

Vs  soon  as  Madame  Dupin  saw  reason  to  suspect  the  existence 
the  germs  of  a  ^vocation'  in  her  grandchild,  she  removed 
to  Nohant.  Family  quarrels  and  troubles  increased,  and 
old  lady  sank  into  second  childhood.  In  the  lonely  country 
xse,  when  she  was  free  from  attendance  on  the  invalid,  George 
ad  had  an  important  space  of  time  to  use  as  she  would, 
(tead  of  going  straight  from  the  convent  into  married  life, 
'  Was  left  to  read  what  books  and  pursue  what  studies  she 
c>se;   and   the   works    of  Rousseau,   Chateaubriand,   Locke, 

Condillac, 


432  George  Sandi 

Condillac,  and  Leibnitz,  soon  shook  her  Catholic  certainty,  and 
prepared  her  for  a  new  and  eclectic  faith.     She  was,  as  she  has 
said,  like  the  Alexis  of  her  own  romance  of  *  Spiridion  ;*  and 
she  plunged  into  the  study  of  heresies  with  the  conviction  that 
she  could  refute  their  reasonings.     It  needed  no  more  than  the 
tragedy  of  her  grandmother's  death-bed,  and  the  assidnitj  of  a 
silly  and  vulgar  priest,  to  convince  her  that  she  and  the  Church 
must  part  company.     After  her  silent  quarrel  with  orthodoxy 
came  a  more  noisy  rupture  with  the  society  of  the  countiy  town. 
A  young  lady  who  rode  on  horseback  and  went  out  to  shoot  '^ 
clothes  not  unlike  those  of  a  peasant,  who  read  Leibnitz  ao^ 
studied  anatomy,  came  under  the  ban  of  the  village  gossips* 
George  Sand  described,  with  bitter  power,  in  *  Indiana,'  tb« 
malice  of  little  towns ;  and  in  the  picture  of  a  village  festival 
in  '  Valentine,'  she  took  revenge  for  the  affronts  of  her  neigU- 
hours. 

The  path,  by  which  George  Sand  wandered  from  the  fold  ot 
the  Church  into  the  wilderness  of  casual  creeds,  was  the  beaten 
highway  of  scepticism.     Much  reading  of  philosophical  writerSy 
and  some  personal  annoyance,  made  her  break  with  established 
religion  ;  and  she  passed  from  decent  society  and  went  into  tb^ 
camp  of  revolution  through  the  usual  breach,  that  of  an  uzi' 
happy  marriage.     When  the  death  of  her  grandmother  left  her 
with  the  choice  to  make  between  her  plebeian  mother  and  her 
noble  relations,  the  heiress  of  Nohant  threw  in  her  lot  witl^ 
the  former.     The  choice  did  credit  to  her  heart,  but  life  witl* 
her  jealous  mother  soon  proved  to  be  unendurable.     The  girl 
accepted  the  proposal  of  a  certain  M.  Dude  van  t,  the  natural  bn'^ 
acknowledged  son  of  a  colonel  in  the  army.     The  union  tume<l 
out  to  be  most  wretched.     Heine  declared   he  could  exhibit 
himself  for  money,  because  he  had  once  seen  M.  and  Madanm^ 
Dudevant  under  the  same  roof.*     But  George  Sand  admits  thm^'^ 
the  early  years  of  her  marriage  were  peaceful  and  prosperous* 
She  became  the  mother  of  two  children  ;  Maurice,  the  liUirateiM^ 
of  that  name,  and  Solange.     Though  there  was  no  romanti-^^ 
passion  between  husband  and  wife,  there  was  a  good  deal  ci^J 
affection.     M.  Dudevant,  whatever  his  faults  may  have  beei 
was  not  like  the  old  and  morose  tyrant  Delmare,  of  *  Indiana 
His  originally  harmless  character  is  said  to  have  changed  for  tt»^ 
worse  in  the  indolent  festivity  of  the  life  of  a  small  squire  in  Berra- 
Between  a  woman  of  extraordinary  genius  and  with  eager  lov^ 
of  the  things  of  the  intellect,  a  woman  with  fits  of  deprcfsio** 
and  of  wild  gaiety,  and  a  man  who  passed  his  life  in  the  compai*/ 

♦  *  Lutcce,'  p.  67.  . 


Qeorge  Sand.  433 

rustic  revellers,  there  was  nothing  in  common,  and  sympathy 
ued  to  exist  In  1831  Madame  Dudevant  left  Nohant  by  a 
ange  though  amicable  arrangement,  and,  with  no  provision 
t  her  scanty  pin-money,  began  the  life  of  a  student  and 
iter  in  Paris.  Of  that  extraordinary  life,  vie  excentrique^  as 
3oige  Sand  mildly  calls  it,  all  the  world  soon  heard  more  than 
ough.  When  a  young  lady  of  beauty  and  genius  imitates 
i  social  arrangements  of  a  Parisian  student,  when  she  even 
opts  his  dress,  she  acts  in  a  manner  to  which  it  is  superfluous 

give  a  name.  Matter  which  the  daring  author  of  *  Lelia' 
sses  over  almost  without  a  word,  we  may  as  well  be  careful 
t  to  handle.  The  loves  of  Goethe  have  been  written  about 
th  tender  enthusiasm,  but  who  is  to  tell  the  epic  of  the  friend- 
ips  of  George  Sand  ?  Who  is  to  understand  the  conscience 
ich,  in. face  of  its  defiance  of  God's  laws  and  man's  customs, 
inks  Heaven  that  it  has  preserved  the  purity  of  its  ideal  F 
le  utmost  that  can  be  said  in  defence  of  George  Sand  at  this 
*iod  is,  that  though  some  unhappy  years  of  her  life  may  have 
in  the  expression  of  her  temporary  opinion  as  to  the  sort 
existence  that  her  sex  might  reasonably  aspire  to,  she  never 
mally  stated  that  opinion  in  her  works.    The  nearest  approach 

such  an  apology  is  in  the  discreditable  tale  of  ^Lucrezia 
>riani ; '  but  Lucrezia,  however  much  her  conduct  may  have 
led  her  name,  did  not  affront  public  decency  as  well  as  private 
►rality. 

\fteT  various  attempts  to  make  a  livelihood  by  the  exercise  of 
^ty  industries  (like  the  heroine  of '  Leone  Leoni,'  she  painted 
vrers  on  Spa-wood  cigar-cases),  Madame  Dudevant  deter- 
Kied  to  try  her  fortune  in  literature.  She  had  discovered  in  an 
seriment  made  before  she  left  Nohant  that  she  ^  could  write 
iily,  quickly,  for  a  long  time  without  fatigue  ;  that  her  ideas, 
ifused  while  they  reposed  in  her  brain,  took  life  and  arrange- 
Qt  when  she  held  the  pen ;  that  in  her  existence  of  inward 
illness  she  had  observed  much,  and  divined  the  character  of 
•  people  whom  she  met ;  that  in  consequence  she  understood 
cxian  nature  well  enough  to  paint  it ;  finally,  that  of  all  the 
lustries  of  which  she  was  capable,  literature  was  that  which 
^led  the  best  chance  of  success  as  a  profession,  and,  to  be 
kin,  as  a  mode  of  winning  daily  bread.'  George  Sand  here 
iches  on  some  of  the  qualities  that  served  her  best  in  her  long 
>eer.  Fluency,  facility,  observation,  she  never  lacked,  and 
-  soon  added  to  them  a  store  of  personal  experience.  The 
tural  gift  and  faculty  of  what  may  be  called  *  vision,'  the 
ensely  keen  discernment  of  the  creatures  of  her  fancy,  was  one 
lich  she  had  in  common  with  Scott,  and  indeed  some  of  her 
Vol  143. — No.  286.  2  F  descriptions 


434  George  Sand. 

descriptions  of  tHe  vivid  distinctness  with  which  her  fancied 
}>ersons  appeared  to  her  mind's   eye  may   be  compared  with 
passages  in  Lockhart's  life  of  the  Great  Magician.     This  gift 
showed  itself  in  the  wonderful  clearness  and  naturalness,  so  to 
speak,  of  the  pages  in  which  she  touches  on  the  supematonlv 
as  in  the  ghost-scene  in  ^  Spiridion,'  and  in  '  Les  Dames  Vertes. 
But  George  Sand's  peculiar  quality,  that  in  which  she  is  oif 
approached,  was  the  rendering  of  the  beauty  of  landscape  intc^ 
words  singularly  appropriate.     It  is  hard  to  say  whether  this  gif^ 
was  the  result  of  study,  or  of  intuition,  at  all  events,  it  answei^ 
in  literature  to  the  effect  produced  by  the  music  of  Chopin^ 
George  Sand  pleased  herself  with  a  mystic  theory  of  corrth^ 
potidances    between    certain    musical    harmonies    and  certain 
forms  and  phenomena  of  nature.     It  may  be  said  in  the  same 
way,  that  her  choice  of  words,  and  of  cadences  of  sound,  enabled 
her  to  reproduce  scenes  of  natural  loveliness  or  charm  by  & 
method   quite   distinct   from   what  is  called  *  word-painting/ 
With  these  qualities,  and  with  a  heart  full  of  indignation  at  a 
society  in  which  she  had  not  obtained  her  due  share  of  hajfi- 
ness,  George  Sand  was  certain  to  produce  an  effect  on  Frendi 
literature.     At  the  moment  of  her  appearance  in  Paris,  fiction 
was  not   a   field  in   which  scrupulously  delicate  people  wcfe 
likely  to  find  their  subsistence.     The  historical  novel,  as  we 
learn  from  Balzac's  ^  Illusions  Perdues,'  had  ceased  to  pleaie. 
The  romantic  school,  in  its  search  for  the  new  and  the  strangS) 
was  producing   stories  that  were  little   better  than  organised 
nightmares.    Without  naming  many  books  now  justly  forgotten, 
and  many    others   only   remembered   by    bibliomaniacs,  it  is 
enough  to  say   that  the   man  to  whom  George   Sand  applied 
for  an   introduction  to  literature   was  the  author  of  an  incon- 
ceivably loathsome  romance.     This  person  refused  to  help  her, 
but  Delatouche,  a  native  of  Berri,  and  the  critic  to  whom  we 
owe  the  first  edition  of  Andre  Chenier's  poems,  gave  her  a 
little  work  to  do  for  the  '  Figaro,'  and  a  great  deal  of  good 
advice.     Not  to  imitate  any  one,  to  shun  pastiches^  to  be  henelf^ 
was  the  burden  of  Dclatouche's  counsel.     He  was  not  too  well 
satisfied  with   ^  Rose  et   Blanche,'  which   Madame  Duderant 
wrote  in  collaboration  with  Jules  Sandeau. 

Her  second  novel,  '  Indiana,'  was  all  her  own  ;  it  was  written 
under  the  roof  of  her  husband,  and  first  made  notorious  the  naoie 
of  Sand,  which  Madame  Dudevant  borrowed  from  her  friend. 
'  Indiana'  caused  a  great  deal  of  talk  as  soon  as  it  appeared.  Mnch 
curiosity  was  excited,  and  every  gossip  had  his  own  version  of  the 
In  story  of  the  author.  It  was  assumed  that  in  ^  Indiana'  George 
Sand  told  the  story  of  her  own  life,  and  that  the  complainta  of 

the 


George  Sand.  435 

heroine  were  intended  to  be  arguments  in  support  of  the  doc- 
les  of  Saint-Simon.  George  Sand  always  protested  that  she 
.  not  share  that  philosopher's  views  of  love  and  marriage,  but 
world  was  full  of  the  schemes  of  Enfantin,  and  insisted  that 
idiana '  was  a  manifesto  in  favour  of  these  vagaries.  Look- 
'  at  the  novel  in  the  perspective  of  time,  it  is  difficult  to 
ount  for  the  disturbance  which  it  caused  among  a  people 
ose  literature  has  been  constant  in  scorn  of  matrimony, 
ibably  the  style — strong,  fresh,  and  musical— differed  so 
atly  from  that  of  the  fiction  of  the  day,  that  a  similar 
mgth.  and  novelty  of  opinions  were  expected.  After  all, 
idiana '  is  only  the  story  of  a  passionate  Creole  girl  who  is 
dly  in  love  with  a  man  of  the  world,  and  who  pours  forth 
olume  of  eloquent  reproaches  against  society  when  she  finds 
t  her  admirer  does  not  think  that  a  love  affair  with  her  is  the 
J  thing  worth  living  for.  People  fancied  that  the  author  had 
le  original  remedy  for  the  social  sores  which  she  probed, 
1  insisted  that  she  was  the  disciple  of  Enfantin.  In  point 
(act,  George  Sand  spoke  the  truth  when  she  said  that  she 
1  no  anti-social  doctrine,  and  no  philosophy  of  licence, 
eed,  it  is  hard  to  see  how  any  theory  could  have  given  her 
re  liberty  than  she  was  taking  in  practice.  It  was  not  her  doc- 
le  that  was  mischievous,  but  her  example,  and  the  exanmle  of 
characters.  Opinions  she  would  alter  and  modify  at  will,  but 
ion  is  necessarily  eternal  in  its  influence.  In  the  case  of  any 
hor  but  George  Sand,  it  must  be  said  once  more,  remarks 
personal  conduct  are  perhaps  superfluous  and  impertinent. 
t  this  lady,  in  her  books,  almost  always  took  up  the  position 
a  reformer  and  a  teacher  after  her  own  fashion;  and  it 
s  became  necessary  to  speak  of  her  influence  as  it  was,  and 

merely  as  she  supposed  it  to  be.  She  had  some  virtues, 
ecially  those  of  benevolence  and  of  charity  to  the  suffering,  in 
iraal  measure,  and  while  she  preached  the  exercise  of  these, 

mingled  with  her  sermons  much  disregard  of  other  virtues, 
bout  which  society  would  simply  be  disintegrated, 
jreorge  Sand's   ideas   about  marriage   and  the  family  have 
letimes  been  spoken  of  as  a  powerful  force  in  French  sodiety. 

way  of  showing  how  changeful  these  and,  indeed,  all  her 
er  theories  were,  it  may  be  useful  to  examine  the  steps  by 
ich  she  returned  to  more  sane  and  hopeful  views  of  life 
I  of  duty.     The  success  of  '  Indiana '  won  her  ajplace  among 

writers  in  the  ^  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes.'  The  novel  of 
3ia,'  which  followed  close  on  *  Indiana '  and  *  Valentine,'  was 

high-water  mark  of  her  revolt.  Readers  who  came  to  *  Lelia ' 
he  hope  of  finding  it  a  new  study  of  manners  and  character  were 

2  F  2  shocked 


436  George  Sand. 

shocked  and  perplexed.  Criticism  was  outspoken,  perhaps  spiteful, 
and  M.  Planche  fought  a  duel  in  defence  of  George  Sand's  Uteniy 
character.  People  found  themselves  in  the  society  of  four  or  fire 
beings,  who  now  seemed  allegorical  personages,  as  vague  and 
more  vapid  than  the  heroes  of  Ossian,  now  portraits  of  well- 
known  living  people,  now  mere  characters  in  a  loose  tale  of 
intrigue.  Was  'Lelia'  written  in  earnest,  or  in  mere  bitter 
je$t  ?  they  asked ;  was  it  a  protest  against  religion  and  society, 
or  an  introduction  to  new  theories  of  existence,  or  the  prophetic 
raving  of  the  St-Simonian  school,  or  a  satire  on  that  sect  of 
dreamers  ?  One  thing  was  certain,  namely,  that  many  of  the 
scenes  were  audacious  copies  of  the  orgies  of  Balzac's  romances, 
placed  in  studied  contrast  with  dithyrambs  on  the  splendour  of 
the  midnight  heavens,  and  prose  hymns  on  the  rising  and  setting 
of  the  constellations.  The  author  has  tried,  with  her  oiou 
frankness,  to  dissipate  the  mystery  which  hung  over  the  mean- 
ing, if  meaning  there  was,  of '  Lelia.'  The  book  was  written, 
she  says,  by  snatches,  without  plan  or  purpose,  conscience  or 
aim ;  its  scenes  are  a  mere  phantasmagoria,  reflecting  changeAd 
moods  of  intellectual  doubt  and  of  emotional  despair.  She  was 
unhappy  for  a  hundred  good  reasons,  private  and  public ;  ibe 
was  sickened  by  the  sight  of  the  hopeless  pauperism  of  Paris; 
saddened  by  events  in  Poland ;  wearied  by  passion,  and  the 
reaction  from  passion.  In  that  state,  like  most  persons  of  talent 
in  her  time,  she  ^  made  her  Werther,'  as  the  French  say;  that  is, 
she  announced  that  ^  the  world  was  a  trap  of  dulness,  into 
which  her  great  soul  had  fallen  by  misadventure.'  The  woiW 
was  full  of  clever  people,  who  found  time  too  short  for  them, 
life  too  fleeting,  love  a  folly,  religion  a  dream.  The  book  of 
modem  Lamentations  that  had  most  effect  on  George  Sand 
was  the  'Obermann'  of  De  Senancour,  'Je  I'ai  bien  aime,  j^ 
I'aime  encore,'  she  wrote  thirty  years  after  *  Lelia,'  *ce  line 
etrange  si  admirablement  mal  fait,  mais  j'aime  encore  mieox  no 
bel  arbre  qui  se  porte  bien.'  De  Senancour  had  but  two  persons 
in  his  confession,  himself  and  Nature,  to  which  he  poured  oot 
his  complaints.  George  Sand  required  more  characters  to 
utter  the  expression  of  the  moods  of  her  melancholy.  Her 
heroine,  Lelia,  is  a  woman  of  boundless  wealth  and  intellect,  of 
mysterious  origin  too,  who  has  sought  in  vain  for  happiness  and 
rest  in  love,  in  faith,  in  poetry,  in  ascetic  retreat,  in  romantic 
adventure.  Her  companions  are  the  poet  Stenio,  a  sort  of 
prophecy  of  Alfred  de  Musset ;  and  Trenmor,  an  absurd 
creation,  convict,  prince,  and  stoic  philosopher,  just  released 
from  the  galleys.     Stenio  is  of  course  in  love  with  Lelia,  who 

sometimes  extends  to  him  a  maternal  tenderness,  which  makes 

both 


George  Sand.  437 

both  poet  and  reader  saj  ^  votre  bonte  me  fait  mal,'  and  at  other 
times  shrinks  from  him,  and  from  the  risk  of  a  fresh  passion. 
'  A  flower  beaten  by  all  winds,  a  barque  tossed  on  all  the  seas  of 
doubt  and  shattered  on  the  rocks  of  all  despair,  she  may  not 
attempt  a  new  voyage  I '  Nothing  can  be  much  more  tedious 
than  the  aspirations  of  Stenio,  the  vacillations  of  Lelia,  the 
wisdom  of  Trenmor.  The  style  of  all  of  them  is  affected  by 
the  then  popular  bombast  of  Macpherson  and  the  rhetoric  of 
Chateaubriand,  and,  in  an  unnamed  valley  of  the  Alps,  they  live 
a  life  as  vaporous  as  that  of  the  ghosts  in  the  echoing  halls  of 
Selma.  But  this  existence  of  shadows  is  broken  in  upon  by 
roisodes  which  are  real  enough.  Lelia,  for  example,  falls  ill  of 
cholera,  and  goes  to  Venice  for  change  of  air.  In  the  city  of 
]dea8ure  she  meets  her  sister,  the  shameless  Pulcherie,  and  the 
pair  make  confessions  to  each  other,  which  are  not  edifying, 
in  the  midst  of  scenes  of  luxurious  debauchery.  It  is  impos- 
sible to  describe  the  adventures  through  which  Lelia  passes  to 
be  the  abbess  of  a  convent,  in  which  position  she  converts  a 
cardinal  to  the  truth  as  it  was  in  the  Abbe  Lamennais. 

If  it  were  worth  while  to  compare  Lelia  with  Obermann  and 
Rene,  and  other  specimens  of  mental  and  moral  pathology,  the 
story  would  be  found  to  possess  one  or  two  peculiar  features. 
In  the  first  place  the  despairing  writer  has  not  the  pleasure  of 
thinking  that  despair  is  an  original  discovery  of  her  own.  ^  I 
am  vexed  and  ashamed  at  finding  myself  so  trivial  and  common- 

!lace  a  type  of  the  suffering  of  a  weak  and  sickly  generation.' 
*he  result  of  this  secondhand  gloom  and  of  these  'merry 
days  of  desolation,'  is  a  want  of  sincerity,  an  absence  of  the 
really  austere  gloom  of  Obermann.  Pulcherie  and  her  boon 
Dompanions  may,  of  course,  be  defended  as  allegorical  represen- 
tations of  the  lust  of  the  flesh,  and  the  pride  of  life,  and  the 
philosophy  of  pleasure.  But  it  is  unlucky  that  these  should  be 
the  most  real  and  vividly  coloured  characters  in  the  book,  that 
the  Alpine  mists  should  vanish  at  their  approach,  and  give  place 
to  the  fumes  of  the  punch  which  Stenio  lights  with  Lelia's  letters. 
rhis  mixture  of  the  trivial  and  vulgar  with  the  false  sublime,  of 
Dssian  and  Chateaubriand  with  Balzac's  orgies,  is  the  chief  fault 
of  *  Lelia '  as  a  work  of  its  own  diseased  school.  But  it  possesses 
one  real  source  of  interest.  No  reader  would  have  believed  that 
the  mind  of  the  writer  would  ever  regain  its  balance,  would  ever 
become  the  mouthpiece  of  placid  morality.  George  Sand  her- 
lelf  looked  for  no  such  change.  '  Eh  quoi  I  ma  periode  de  parti 
wis  n'arrivera-t-elle  pas  ?  Oh,  si  j'y  arrive,  vous  verrez,  mes  amis, 
pelles   pesantes   dissertations,   quels    magnifiques    plaidoyers, 

quelles 


438  George  Sand. 

quelles   superbes   condamnations,   quels  pleux  sermoni  decott* 
leront  de  ma  plume ! '     The  time  for  all  this  came  in  less  thsn  li^ 
or  seven  years,  and  when  George  Sand  wrote  in  a  newspaper 
started  bj  Lamennais  her  ^  Lettres  a  Marcie,'  she  made  a  kuidof 
palinode  for  the  sins  of  Lelia.     Marcie,  like  that  heroine,  is  s 
discontented  woman,  full  of  aspirations,  and  eager  for  a  change 
in  woman's  lot.     George  Sand  consoles  her  in  the  most  tnmqail' 
lising  strains.     II  s^agit  d^attendre,  ^  in  returning  and  rest  shall 
be  your  strength,'  is  the  burden  of  her  morality.     What  are  we 
that  we  should  despise  others,  and  what  right  have  we  to  sigh 
for  the  cedars  of  Lebanon  and  the  pines  of  Morven  ?     The  si^t 
of  a  virtuous  man,  however  badly  dressed  {de  grossiers  hM 
couvrent  des  triors  de  bontf)^  should  console  us  for  the  tameness 
of  our  existence.     As  to  religion,  it  is  superfluous  to  invent  nev 
creeds  before  we  have  g^ven  a  fair  trial  to  the  old  and  to  the 
efficacy  of  prayer.     The  agitation  for  Women's  Rights  shows,  bj 
its  absurdity,  how  little  capacity  women  have  for  politics.    Each 
sex  has  its  own  duties,  and  why  should  society  try  to  reverse  the 
admirable  order  of  Nature  ?    Thus  George  Sand's  specolatioDS 
end  with  the  belief  that  women  have  their  own  sphere,  and  that 
their  first  duty  is  to  win  respect  and  love,  while  continuing  to 
be  themselves.     Their  highest  satisfaction  will  be  found,  not  in 
a  series  of  passions,  but  in  one  unbroken  love.     But  beside  the 
marriage,   for   example,   of  the  heroine   of    *Le  Marquis  de 
Villemer,'  there  is  always  present  the  shadow  of  the  husband's 
tragical  intrigue,  which  the  novelist  treats  as  a  matter  of  course. 
This  is  an  instance  of  the  kind  of  writing  which  most  English 
readers  find  distasteful  in  George  Sand. 

Between  the  fever  of  '  Lelia '  and  the  calm  of  the  *  Letters  to 
Marcia,'  George  Sand  had  passed  through  Sturm  und  Drang,  and 
had  felt  the  force  of  many  influences.  When  one  speaks  of 
*  influences '  in  her  case,  one  generally  means  the  influence  of 
this  or  that  man.  '  Le  style  c'est  Thomme,'  said  Madame  de  Girar- 
din,  talking  of  her  friend,  but  it  would  have  been  more  true  to 
say,  *  La  pensee  c'est  I'homme.'  After  the  days  of  Sandeau  and 
Delatouche,  came  those  of  Gustave  Planche  and  Sainte-BeoTe. 
The  gloom  of  the  former  critic  is  traceable  in  ^  Jacques,'  that 
'  Obermann  of  married  life,'  as  George  Sand  calls  him,  who  in 
his  dismal  courtship  explained  to  his  bride  that  love  was  a  tran- 
sitory passion,  and  found  out  too  soon  the  truth  of  his  own 
doctrine.  The  influence  of  Sainte-Beuve  was  more  purely  lite- 
rary :  he  was  the  friend  of  George  Sand  in  her  wild  youth,  and 
describes  her  as  '  a  young  woman  with  fine  eyes,  and  a  nobk 
brow,  with  dark  hair,  worn  rather  short ;  dressed  in  a  sombre 

momingJi** 


George  Sand.  439 

momingp-dress  of  the  simplest  fashion.'  *     Very  different  from 

^e  calm  friendship  of   Balzac   and  of  Sainte-Beuve  was  the 

^uii$on  with  Alfred  de  Musset.     Every  one  appears  to  have  had 

^is  own  version  of  an  affair  which  the  French  have  discussed  so 

^tich,  and  which  it  seems  absurd  to  discuss  at  all.     A  married 

^oman  of  thirty  goes  off  to  Italy  with  a  poet  of  twenty-three  ; 

die  is  all  maternal  solicitude ;  he  all  jealousy,  inconstant,  cruel, 

profligate.   .  Or  again,  it  is  he  who  is  all  affection  and  constancy  ; 

^d  ^e  who  is  fickle,  spiteful,  coarse,   and  cruel.     Whoever 

<^&res  to  pursue  the  theme  through  three  or  four  novels  by  the 

chief  persons  in  the  intrigue  and  by  their  friends,  will  probably 

oome  to  the  conclusion  that  De  Musset  was  unendurable,  and 

that  Greorge  Sand  was  gifted  with  a  sublime  belief  in  her  own 

Inrity,  self-devotion,  and  fairness.  Very  lately  M.  Paul  de 
[asset  has  again  broached  the  subject  in  his  biography  of  his 
toother.  There  are  some  amusing  anecdotes  about  these  strange 
lovers,  and  it  is  odd  to  read  how  George  Sand  called  on 
De  Mnsset's  mother  and  won  her  reluctant  consent  to  the 
Italian  tour.  But,  after  all,  nothing  is  more  clear  than  that 
De  Musset's  suffering  heart  very  soon  found  abundance  of 
consolation. 

When  the  two  writers  parted  company  in  Venice,  George 
Sand  remained  for  some  months  in  the  city,  which  took  her 
fancy  captive.  The  novels  of  *  Jacques,'  *  Andre,'  *  Leone  Leoni,' 
books  full  of  bitter  melancholy,  were  the  fruits  of  this  period. 
The  author  was  actually  writing  for  her  daily  bread,  and  was 
xednced  to  her  last  franc,  when  a  delayed  remittance  from  the 
*  Revue  des  Deux  M ondes '  enabled  her  to  leave  Venice.  Looking 
back  on  the  city  from  the  more  peaceful  years  of  later  life,  George 
Sand  made  it  the  scene  of  ^  L'Uscoque,'  and  ^  Les  Maitres 
Mosalstes,'  historical  novels ;  of  '  La  Demiere  Aldini,'  and  of  the 
opening  copters  of  ^  Consuelo.'  She  never  excelled  the  beauty 
of  her  descriptions  of  moonlight  and  sunset  in  the  lagoons,  nor 
sorpassed  the  vivid  picture  of  the  heat  and  torment  of  the  piombi^ 
the  prisons  under  the  leads  of  the  Ducal  palace,  in  the  ^  Maitres 
Mosalstes.' 

The  *  Lettres  d'un  Voyageur,'  on  the  other  hand,  are  the  but 
slightly  veiled  expression  of  her  personal  sufferings  from  day  to 
day.  Some  of  these  letters  were  addressed  to  De  Musset  (whom 
she  compares  to  Christ !)  in  various  moods  of  tenderness  and 
reproach ;  others  to  M.  Neraud,  who  sagely  told  her  that  her 
maternal  instinct  would  bring  her  back  to  Nohant  and  to  her 
children.     Another  of  George  Sand's  correspondents  was  Michel 

*  *  Poriraits  oontemporaiiis,'  vol.  L  p.  507. 

of 


440  George  Sand. 

of  Bourges,  tbe  barrister  who  was  so  conspicuous  in  the  great  ita^ 
trials  of  1836.     This  person  was  Madame  Dudevant's  adrocat^ 
in  the  lawsuit  which  ended  in  her  separation  from  her  husbao^ 
(1836),  and  was  among  the  first  of  her  friends  to  introduce  her 
to  the  active  politics  of  the  time.      The  lady  was   natoiaUy 
Republican ;  *  Republique,  aurore  de  la  justice  et  de  TegalitCt 
divine  utopie,  salut ! '  she  cries,  in  the  *  Lettres  d'un  Voyagcor- 
M.  Michel,  too,  was  Republican  ;  but  he  thought  that  Ae  bc«t 
way  to  bring  in  the  divine  Utopia  was  to  annihilate  existiojS^ 
institutions.      George   Sand  quotes    a   frenzy   of  his    on   tbi-^ 
topic,  and  aspirations  which  were  partly  accomplished  in  187  X* 
*  Civilisation,'  he   cried,  in   a   passion,  as  he  smote  his  caH^ 
against  the  resounding  balustrades  of  the  bridge,  *  yes,  that  i^ 
the  great  word  with  you  artists — Civilisation  I     I  tell  you  tb»^ 
before  your  corrupt  society  can  be  renewed  and  refreshed,  thu  tmi^ 
river  must  run  red  with  blood  ;  this  accursed  palace  (the  Louvr^/ 
must  be  burned  to  ashes;  this  vast  city,  over  whose  expan*^ 
you  gaze,  must  be  made  a  desolate  shore,  where  the  family  ^* 
the   poor  will   drive  their  plough  and  build  their  huts.'     *Fl^' 
appealed,'  George  Sand   goes    on,   *  to   the  poigfnard  and  tl»^^ 
torch  ;  he  cursed  this  impure  Jerusalem  in  Apocalyptic  strains  9 
then,  after  these  pictures  of  desolation,  he  sidutes  the  approac^l^ 
of  the  world  of  the  future,  the  manners  of  the  Golden  Age,  tf»^ 
earthly  paradise  that  was  to  be  raised  on  the  smoking  ruins  ^'^ 
the  past  by  the  magic  of  some  beneficent  fairy.'     After  this  soetf*^ 
George  Sand's  affection  for  M.  Michel  cooled  a  good  deal,  aca^ 
he  himself  married  a  rich  widow.     But  the  seed  was  sown ;  aiB^ 
though   the   novelist   was  quite  unjustly  accused  of  admins |S 
the  poignard  as  a  political  agent,  and  of  wearing  an  assassiim^^ 
hair  in  a  bracelet,  yet  she  became  a  believer  in  the  benefioecs^ 
fairy,  the  golden  world,  the  charming  social  future  of  humanity- 
When  the  author  of  '  Leiia '  was  deep  in  her  speculative  com*-' 
fusions  and  sentimental  sorrows,  M.  Sainte-Beuve  recommencle<i 
to  her  two  physicians  of  souls,  namely,  M.  Jean  Reynaud  aod 
M.  Pierre  Leroux.     These  sages  had  the   advantage  of  being' 
more  emancipated  from  Catholic  prejudices  than  M.  Lamennaii^ 
whose  influence,  at  the  moment  a  sedative  one,  we  have  observed 
in  the  *  Lettres  a  Marcie.'     One  or  two  singular  novels  speak  o(     j 
a  period  of  divided  allegiance  between  1836-1840.     In  additiao 
to  her  moral  and  intellectual  hunger  and  thirsty  George  Sand 
retained  the  feelings  of  a  woman  and  an  artist.     In  a  corioos 
passage  of  ^  Les  Lettres  d'un  Voyageur,'  she  has  described  i 
dream  which  was  often  repeated  in  her  sleep.     She  seemed  to 
be  wandering  on  a  deserted  shore,  when  a  barque  full  of  friendly 
making  sweet  music,  floated  towards  her  down  the  stream.  Tbej 


George  Sand.  441 

ied  aloud,  *  We  are  sailing  to  the  unknown  land/  They  made 
r  join  their  company,  and  disembarked  on  a  strange  yet  familiar 
ast.  ^  Who  are  these  mariners  and  minstrels  ? '  she  asks. 
Lie  they  the  transfigured  souls  of  the  dead,  or  the  semblances 

the  living  whom  I  have  ceased  to  love  ? '  In  any  case,  it 
peared  to  her  in  the  dream  that  their  society  made  her  real 
^  and  their  nameless  shore  her  home.  The  whole  vision  is  an 
egory  of  the  free  future  of  fancy,  peopled  with  fair  passions, 
1  the  home  of  impossible  joys.  M.  Pierre  Leroux,  though  not 
ictly  a  practical  figure  in  the  eyes  of  the  sarcastic  Heine,  was, 

real  me,  one  of  George  Sand's  guides  to  the  ideal  future. 
le  means,'  says  Heine,  ^  to  build  a  colossal  bridge,  with  but  a^ 
igle  arch,  resting  on  two  pillars,  of  which  one  is  fashioned  out 
the  materialist  granite  of  the  last  century,  and  the  other  of 
e  moonshine  of  the  future,  and  this  pillar  is  to  be  based  on  an 
^discovered  star  in  the  galaxy.'  While  M.  Leroux  was  the 
lot,  M.  Chopin  was  the  minstrel  of  the  allegory.  For  six  or 
tren  years  he  made  part  of  Madame  Dudevant's  family,  and 
^en  she  took  her  children  to  pass  a  winter  in  Majorca,  the 
asician  accompanied  them.  The  experiment  was  not  sue- 
^al.  Lodged  in  the  ruinous  convent  of  Valdemosa,  the 
•ity  had  to  endure  cold,  solitude,  and  every  kind  of  dis- 
Knfort.  The  nerves  of  the  consumptive  Chopin  gave  way,  he 
M  the  most  querulous  and  discontented  of  invalids.  ^  Na 
laper,'  sajrs  George  Sand,  *  was  ever  more  unequal,  no  feelings 

easily  hurt,  no  demands  so  impossible  to  satisfy.'     Dr.  Liszt^ 

his  florid  biography  of  Chopin,  makes  out  that  this  was  a 
nny  period  in  the  life  of  the  musician,  who  was  afterwards 
eittei%d  in  health  and  happiness  by  a  change  in  George 
^.  The  story  is  not  more  edifying  than  many  other  stories 
'Out  the  relations  between  the  lady  and  her  friends.  There 
M  a  quarrel,  after  Chopin,  or  some  one  very  like  him,  appeared 

the  detestable  Prince  Karol  of  *  Lucrezia  Floriani.'  Whe» 
e  musician  died  of  consumption,  his  friends  blamed  George 
Old,  whose  conscience  entirely  absolved  her.  The  trace  of 
lopin's  literary  influence  is  to  be  found  in  *  Consuelo,'  and  in 
B  vague  allegory  called  *  Les  Sept  Cordes  de  la  Lyre.'  The 
>ral  of  that  apologue  seems  to  be  that  all  man's  faculties  and 
lotions,  however  precious  in  themselves,  lose  all  their  value  if 
iy  do  not  harmoniously  combine  in  the  religious  sentiment ; 
d  the  philosophy  of  George  Sand's  religion  is  expounded  in 
piridion.'  In  spite  of  a  trace  of  the  manner  of  Mrs.  Radclifie, 
i  form  of  ^  Spiridion '  is  impressive,  whatever  we  may  think 
the  doctrine.  Among  the  sighing  winds  and  midnight  terrors 
the  ruined  convent  of  Valdemosa,  George  Sand  learned    to 

describe 


442  George  Sand. 

describe  the  singular  abbey  which  Peter  Hebronius,  in  her  itory, 
founded  and  haunted.  Hebronius  was  a  Jew,  converted  to  the 
Reformed  religion,  next  a  proselyte  to  Catholicism,  and,  lastly, 
the  inventor  of  a  creed  of  his  own  device,  which  his  ghost  takes 
a  good  deal  of  unnecessary  pains  to  hand  on  to  his  successors 
in  the  abbey.  The  whole  is  an  allegory  of  the  adventures  of  the 
soul  in  search  of  truth ;  and  the  truth,  when  discovered,  is  ratber 
vague  and  negative,  as  it  may  be  read  in  the  answers  of  the 
Pere  Alexis  to  his  young  neophyte : — 

***So  father,"  said  I,  "we  are  no  longer  Oatholios?"  "Nor 
OhriBtians/'  said  he,  in  a  firm  voice;  "no,  nor  Protestants,"  he 
added,  as  he  clasped  my  hand;  "nor  philosophers,  like  YolturBf 
Helvetius,  and  Diderot ;  we  are  not  even  Socialists,  like  Jean  JsoqneSi 
and,  for  all  that,  we  are  neither  pagans  nor  atheists  I "  **  What  ire 
we  then,  Father  Alexis  ?  "  I  asked.' 

And  so  does  the  bewildered  reader,  without  getting  any  taiosr 
factory  reply.     Perhaps  Hans,  in  the  ^  Sept  Cordes  de  la  Ljit, 
gives  as  good  a  definition  as  it  is  possible  to  make  of  Geoig^ 
Sand's  metaphysical  and  theosophical  belief. 

« «  Master,"  says  Hans,  "  let  &  disciple  repeat  his  lesson.    God  hi* 
cast  us  into  this  life,  as  it  were  into  an  alembic,  where,  after  a  pf»* 
vious  existence  which  we  have  forgotten,  we  are  condemned  to  be 
re-made,  renewed,  tempered  by  suffering,  by  strife,  by  passioii,  W 
doubt,  by  disease,  by  death.    All  these  evils  we  endure  for  our  good, 
for  our  purification,  and,  so  to  speak,  to  make  us  perfect.    From  ag^ 
to  age,  from  race  to  race,  we  accomplish  a  tardy  progress,  tardy  but 
certain,  an  advance  of  which,  in  spite  of  all  the  sceptics  say,  the 
proofs  are  manifest.    If  all  the  imperfections  of  our  being,  fnd  all 
the  woes  of  onr  estate,  drive  at  discouraging  and  terrifying  ns^on 
the  other  hand  all  the  more  noble  faculties,  which  have  been  bestowed 
on  us  that  we  might  know  God  and  seek  after  perfection,  do  make  for 
our  salvation,  and  deliver  us  from  fear,  misery,  and  even  death.   Yea, 
a  divine  instinct  that  always  grows  in  light  and  in  strong^,  helps 
us  to  -comprehend  that  nothing  in  the  whole  world  wholly  dies,  and 
that  we   only  vanish  from  the  things  that  lie   about  us  in  oar 
earthly  life,  to  reappear  among  conditions  more  favourable  to  onr 
eternal  growth  in  good."  ' 

With  these  words  George  Sand  sums  up  her  religious  specula- 
tions. Having  taken  leave  of  love,  as  she  says,  she  was  free  m 
1841  to  turn,  with  all  her  eager  interest,  to  social  questions. 
Pierre  Lcroux  became  her  father  confessor,  as  Heine  puts  it,  and 
instructed  her  in  the  mystic  socialism  which  he  developed,  after 
deserting  the  other  visionaries  of  the  Rue  Taitbout.  It  is  worth 
while  to  quote  from  his  Parisian  letters,  Heine's  description  of 

George  Sand  at  this  moment,  when  she  had  broken  with  the 

*ReTUC 


George  Sand.  443 

*  des  Deux  Mondes/  which  refused  to  accept  her  novel 
}e/  and  when  she  was  living  in  a  curious  society  of 
ans,  socialists,  and  artists. 

rge  Sand,  the  greatest  writer  of  France,  is  at  the  same  time  a 
of  remarkahle  heautj.  Like  the  genius  which  she  shows  in 
'ks,  her  face  may  be  called  rather  beautifal  than  engaging ;  for 
ing  that  interests  and  attracts  does  so  by  virtue  of  some  devia- 
}m  the  formal  lines  of  loveliness,  whereas  the  countenance  of 
,Sand  has  a  classic  regpilarity.  Her  features  are  not,  however, 
r  marked  by  antique  severity,  but  softened  and  saddened  by  a 
modem  sentimentality.    Her  forehead  is  low,  rather  than  high, 

*  rich  chestnut  hair  falls  over  her  shoulders.  .  .  .  Her  con- 
Kn  is  no  more  remarkable  than  her  voice,  and  she  absolutely 
he  sparkling  wit  of  the  French  and  their  endless  flow  of 

It  is  her  way  to  give  nothing,  in  talk,  and  to  take  in  every- 
<  and  therein,"  as  De  Musset  said,  ^'  she  has  a  great  advantage 
B  rest  of  us."  She  listens  when  others  speak,  and  reproduces 
loughts,  embellished  and  elaborated  by  her  own  receptive 


rge  Sand's  own  account  of  herself  partly  bears  out  this 
ilf-friendly  description,  and  she  especially  insists  on  her 
of  esprit.  Indeed,  it  would  be  difficult  to  extract  half-a^ 
good  things  out  of  all  her  novels,  and  she  almost  wholly 
the  more  playful  kind  of  humour. 

F  the  rupture  with  the  ^  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,'  George 
encountered  two  foes  of  her  style — socialism  and  the 
m.  Writing  day  by  day  for  the  daily  supply  of  the  press, 
s  tempted,  or  rather  compelled,  to  spin  out  and  weaken 
ventures  of  Consuelo.  That  charming  and  impossible 
?  was  sent  wandering  through  the  wildest  regions,  and 
illustrations  of  the  socialism  of  Leroux  among  the  haunted 
of  Mrs.  Radclifie.  After  all,  George  Sand's  economical 
es  of  this  period  were  too  transparently  absurd  to  do 
larm.  No  one  is  likely  to  become  a  Commimist  because 
;  Sand's  virtuous  carpenters  refuse  to  many  rich  heiresses, 
xe  does  in  *  Le  Compagnon  du  Tour  de  France.'  People 
be  interested  by  descriptions  of  the  old  mummeries  of  the 
^companies'  of  artisans,  without  being  prompted  to 
the  International.  If  there  was  discontent  at  Lyons,  it 
rdly  have  been  awakened  by  George  Sand's  description 
socialistic  Marquis,  who,  in  ^  Le  P^che  de  M.  Antoine,' 
his  vast  estates  to  make  two  lovers  happy,  with  re- 
T  over  to  the  possible  Commune  of  the  future  I  It  was 
>stly  fortresses,  the  trap-doors  and  secret  stairs  of  ^  Con- 
it  was  the  ideal  character  of  Pauline  Garcia  etherealised, 

that 


444  George  Sand. 

that  pleased,  and  the  world  was  no  more  likely  to  imitate  Coant 
Albert  when  he  pauperised  his  neighbours  by  indiscriminate 
charity,  than  when  he  took  up  his  abode  in  a  well. 

In  spite  of  her  friendship  for  Michel,  while  it  lasted,  and  for 
Louis  Blanc,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  Geoi^  Sand  caied 
much  for  the  political  side  of  Republicanism.     Bat  her  specula" 
tions  about  the  philosophy  of  alms-giving  and  charity  (in  which- 
duty  she  was  constant)  led  her  to  believe  that  a  new  order  of  sodetV' 
was  necessary,  and  she  thought  that  the  new  world  was  at  tb^ 
doors,  in  the  March  of  1848.     She  expressed  her  opinions  i^* 
two   pamphlets,  called  '  Lettres  au  Peuple;'  she  appealed  *tCP 
the  heart  of  the  working-classes,  which  is  synonymous  with  tbeL^* 
reason ;'   she   averred   that  *  their  pretended   masters  had  \(»^ 
themselves  in  their  miserable  system  of  political  economy.'  Sh^^ 
avowed  that  ^  the  Republic  is  a  baptism,  which  can  onlj  b^? 
received  by  people  in  a  state  of  grace ;  that  is,  people  who  detor^ 
evil  too  much  to  believe  in  its  existence  and  its  influence.'   A 
the  same  time  she  called  on  the  artisans  to  maintain  sodetj 
they  found  it ;  and,  in  short,  she  must  have  proved  no  ver^^ 
intelligible  guide  to  the  people  whom  she  addressed.     She  hi^^ 
been  formally  accused  of  writing  electoral  addresses  for  Wre*- 
Rollin,  and  of  helping  Barbes  to  edit  ^  La  Commune  de  Paiis> 
Whatever  amount  of  truth  there  may  be  in  these  charges,  •*•. 
whatever  blame  they  may  involve,  it  is  certain  that  the  dajs  o^ 
June  drove  her  back,  in  sorrow  and  terror,  to  her  profession— 
Among  the  woods  of  her  beloved  Nohant  she  composed  ^L*- 
Petite  Fadette,'  one  of  the  most  popular  and  attractive  of  tb^ 
rustic  novels  which  will  always  maintain  her  reputation. 

It  is  generally  believed  that  George  Sand  will  be  best  remem- 
bered by  her  stories  of  peasant  life,  her  Bergeries^  as  she  called 
them.  Her  imagination  needed  and  delighted  in  the  repose  oi 
Nature,  the  tranquillity  of  hills  and  forests,  the  spectacle  of  the 
ceaseless  round  of  rural  labour.  With  the  story  of  *  Jeanne, 
written  about  the  time  (1843)  when  the  painter  Millet  fint 
exhibited  pictures  of  the  peasants  as  they  are,  George  Sand 
entered  on  a  new  domain  of  her  genius.  She,  too,  chose  peasant* 
for  her  chief  characters,  though  she  gave  them  somewhat  of  ^ 
ideal  grace,  and  poured  a  flood  of  warm  light  on  the  fields, 
which  is  strange  to  the  landscapes  of  Millet  In  choosing  roru 
themes  she  only  yielded  to  a  temptation  which  poets  have  feU 
most  strongly  in  times  of  over-refined  civilisation.  Layings 
aside  the  artificial  manner  of  the  eighteenth  century,  she  looked 
at  her  shepherds  and  shepherdesses  rather  with  the  ejtA  w 
Virgil  and  of  Scott  than  of  Watteau.  Like  Scott,  she  depicted 
the  grave  humours  of  individuals,  and  adopted  in  mod^ation 

the 


George  Sand.  445 

lialect  of  her  district ;  like  Virgil,  she  was  fascinated  by  the 
ic  aspect  of  labour,  the  struggle  of  man  with  the  earth,  ^  la 
(  graisse  et  lourde,  qui  est  la  plus  rude  maitresse  qu'il  y  ait.* 
ploughmen  and  farm-folk  differ  from  those  of  Scott  in  one 
>rtant  respect,  for  they  are  scarcely  touched  by  any  of  the 
mts  of  civilised  society.     They  have  no  feudal  affection,  no 
ble  loyalty  to  any  lords,  no  interest  in  any  struggle  of  faith. 
iched  from  the  disputes  of  the  world,  they  live  a  life  apart, 
led  round  in  earth  s  diurnal  course,  with  rocks,  and  stones, 
trees.'     They  feel  a  half-conscious  harmony  with  Nature, 
sympathy  with  her  moods,  but  with  the  events  of  the  world 
lought,  the  strife  in  the  spheres  of  religion  or  politics,  they 
i  no  concern.    They  should  be  the  happiest  of  men,  sua  si 
\  twrintj  and  the  tragic  element  in  their  lives  is  their  uncon- 
osness  of  the  eternal  beauty  that  surrounds  them.     George 
i  did   uot  absolutely   accomplish    her   own    aim — that   of 
ing  herself  intelligible  to  the  peasant — and  her  rural  novels 
e  more  likely  to  quicken  an  educated  feeling  than  to  wake 
•  existence  a  stifled  sense  of  natural  beauty,  of  the  sweet 
efioence  of  Nature.     But  this  is  a  failure  which  they  share 
li  all  literature  of  the  class  of  the  Georg^cs.     The  reverie  of 
peasant  he  probably  cannot  translate  even  into  his  own 
ect,  and  George  Sand  could  scarcely  hope  to  express  it  in  a 
Kh  old  and  plain  enough  to  be  comprehended  by  the  rustic, 
yet  modem  enough  to  be  intelligible  to  her  ordinary  circle 
leaders.      Thus  in  ^Jeanne,'  the  first  of  the  hergei-ies^  the 
et  does  not  absolutely  succeed  in  her  picture  of  the  heroine — 
bepherd-girl — with  the  purity,  the  visionary  temperament, 
the  courage  of  a  Jeanne  d'Ara     Thus  character  was  sug- 
ed  by  the  grave  face  of  a  peasant  Madonna  by  Holbein,  and 
Q  example  of  George  Sand  s  ideal  way  of  treating  suggestions 
1  nature  and  art. 

'assing  from  this  novel,  published  in  1844,  to  the  ^  Maitres 
neurs '  (1853),  we  again  meet  a  pleasant  idealism.  *  Les 
tres  Sonneurs '  is  a  series  of  pictures  of  forest  and  pasture, 
intain  and  moorland,  and  is  peculiarly  rich  in  descriptions 
indent  customs.  The  manners  of  the  wandering  gangs  of 
eteers,  and  of  the  self-ruled  communities  of  wood-cutters, 
mystic  mummeries  of  the  fraternities  of  minstrels,  give 
elty  to  the  tale,  and  the  sketch  of  a  peasant-festivsJ  pro- 
leA  till  dawn,  and  ending  in  prayer  and  praise,  lights  up 
book  in  a  fanciful  but  singularly  attractive  fashion.  It  is 
aspect  of  France  before  the  Revolution,  which  has  been 
>lately  neglected  in  the  endless  repetition  of  the  wrongs  of 
peasantry  and  of  the  greed  and  cruelty  of  the  seigneurs. 

Here 


446  Creorge  Sand. 

Here  again  the  peasants  have  an  ideal  grace,  and  the  heroines  are 
found  treating  each  other  with  a  refinement  of  magnanimitj  whidi 
is  not  to  be  found  in  the  heart  of  woman,  silvan  or  domesticated. 
As  in  ^  Consuelo/  the  heroine  is  *  too  good  for  human  natme's 
daily  food.'  The  same  objection  may  be  made  to  *  La  Pedte 
Fadette,'  and  on  the  whole  it  is  probable  that  *  La  Maie  an 
Diable '  and  ^  Francis  le  Champi '  were  the  rural  stories  in 
which  the  writer  pleased  herself  best,  and  conformed  most  conft- 
pletelj  to  the  conditions  and  limitations  of  her  theme.  Witb 
all  deductions,  Geoi^  Sand  gave  France  the  most  pore  and 
pleasing  works  of  her  modem  literature,  and  if  she  made  hei 
swains  somewhat  too  fine,  too  just,  too  eloquent,  she  only  exer- 
cised with  moderation  the  privilege  of  a  wnter  of  eclogues. 

After  her  experience  in  1848,  George  Sand  ceased  to  take 
a  part  in  actual  politics.  Thotlgh  she  reconciled  herself  to  tbc 
Empire,  as  to  what  was  inevitable,  she  resisted  the  Ultramon- 
tane revival,  and  in  ^  Mdlle.  La  Quintinie '  exposed  what  she 
believed  to  be  the  pernicious  effect  of  the  new  Catholicism  00 
the  life  of  the  family.  Her  private  career  is  no  longer  easj  ta 
trace,  nor  perhaps  were  its  events  of  very  great  general  interest 
Some  severe  domestic  sorrows  befell  her,  and  a  violent  quanel 
was  stirred  up  by  the  novel  '  Elle  et  Lui,'  with  which  she  le- 
turned  to  the  ^  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes.'  It  is  hard  to  find  aa 
excuse  for  thus  reopening  the  old  story  about  De  Musset's  faohi 
and  her  own  virtues.  M.  Paul  de  Musset's  ^  Lui  et  Elle '  was  fl 
coarse  reply  in  kind,  and  a  literary  feud  raged  about  the  amooii 
of  a  lady  who  was  now  occupying  herself  with  the  duties  of  a 
grandmother.  In  the  retirement  of  Nohant,  George  Sand  founds 
in  age  as  in  youth,  her  chief  happiness,  and,  far  from  the  strife 
of  tongues,  returned  to  the  simple  life,  the  friendship  with  the 
rural  poor,  which  it  was  her  misfortune  that  she  ever  abandoned- 
From  that  retirement,  and  from  the  ancient  town  of  Boussac, 
where  Pierre  Leroux  founded  his  printing-press,  and  where  the 
scene  of  '  Jeanne '  is  laid,  she  watched  the  progress  of  the 
great  war,  and  recorded  her  impressions  in  the  ^Journal  d'un 
Voyageur.'  Her  efforts  to  look  with  impartial  eyes  at  the  strife 
between  France  and  Germany  did  not  outlast  the  siege  of  Pan** 
Seeing,  as  she  did  every  day,  the  hopeless  condition  of  M. 
Gambetta's  raw  levies,  untrained,  unfed,  ill-clothed,  and  sbo^ 
less,  she  placed  no  faith  in  the  young  Dictator  and  in  the  pro- 
tracted struggle,  and  but  little  hope  in  the  new  Republic  Her 
political  friends  were  bitter  against  her  life-long  friend,  the 
peasant ;  and  in  the  stolid  rustic  vote  she  looked  for  the  salva- 
tion of  France.     Her  genius  survived  the  shock  of  public  events 

which  deeply  moved  her ;  and  her  last  works,  written  at  the  age 

of 


George  Sand.  447 

f  seventy,  show  no  abatement  in  versatility.  She  actually 
pened  a  new  series  of  fiction,  and  though  when  Eugene  Sue 
ras  in  faishion  she  had  declined  to  compete  with  him,  she  did 
lot  disdain,  in  *  Flamarande,'  to  employ  the  trick  of  a  compli- 
ated  plot  and  a  tantalising  secret 

The  extraordinary  fertility  of  a  writer  who,  for  forty  years, 
mblished  on  an  average  two  novels  per  annum — not  to  speak  of 
hramas  founded  on  those  plays — may  be  partly  explained  by  a 
certain  sameness  in  the  essential  character  of  her  work.  Thus 
m  almost  every  one  of  George  Sand's  stories,  we  find  the  high- 
Kmled  being,  justissimus  unus,  or  more  often  justissima  una^ 
olerant,  and  yet  impassioned,  unselfish,  devoted  to  the  happi- 
iiess  of  others.  This  noble  creature  is  always  in  contrast  with 
'h»  smallness  and  selfishness  and  personnaliti  of  some  other  man 
V  woman.  '  As  a  rule  George  Sand  prefers  to  select  some  such 
■nan  as  Rajrmond  in  ^  Indiana,'  or  Anzoleto  in  ^  Consuelo,'  or 
Horace  in  the  novel  of  that  name,  to  display  the  qualities  which 
Ae  most  despises.  She  has  a  perfect  gallery  of  men  who  remind 
IS  of  Tito  and  of  Arthur  Donnithorne,  in  their  pleasant  and 
mooessful  selfishness,  their  weakness,  and  their  need  of  public 
approval  and  esteem.  It  is  a  kind  of  answer  to  critics  who,  like 
^^  Nisard,  say  that  the  *  lover  is  the  king  of  her  books,'  to 
^y  that  these  despised  men  are  her  successful  lovers.  They 
*e  spoiled  children  rather  than  kings,  and  the  loves  which  they 
l^nunand  at  will  are  *  bom  of  idleness  and  fulness  of  bread.' 
^  «ie  characters  in  some  thirty  stories  have  literally  no  occu- 
^tion  in  the  world  except  to  seduce  and  to  be  seduced,  and  to 
11  up  their  empty  days  with  the  praises  and  pleasures  of 
^ssion.  There  are  moments  in  which  George  Sand  adopts  the 
Morality  of  Sir  Thomas  Malory,  holds  with  him  that  '  Love  is 

great  master,'  and  makes  some  of  her  most  just,  tender,  elevated 
wracters  endure  his  disgraceful  yoke.  In  such  moments  she 
^irises  the  opposite  sex  and  her  own,  by  making  Raymond, 
^edict,  or  Tonine  irresistible.  At  other  times  the  more 
leal  and  aspiring  part  of  her  character  has  its  hour  of  victory, 
nd  Consuelo,  or  Silvestre,  or  the  hero  of  Mauprat,  come  out 
riumphant,  though  wounded,  from  the  struggle.  However  the 
vent  may  fall,  the  balance  between  the  weak  and  worldly  lover 
nd  the  austere  and  maternal  or  paternal  lover  is  constantly 
ibrating,  and  its  movements  make  the  action  of  the  story. 

One  cause  of  George  Sand's  literary  fertility  was,  at  the  same 
une,  a  defect  in  her  personal  character;  perhaps  the  defect 
rhich  caused  her  most  inveterate  quarrels  with  her  acquaint- 
nces.  All  experience  came  to  her  as  material  for  art  to  handle, 
n  all  her  own  troubles,  however  bitter,  she  was  almost  as  much 

the 


448  George  Sand. 

the  spectator  as  the  sufferer.     These  scenes  of  torment  between 
passion,  and  jealousy,  in  which  she  excelled;  these  sufferings  of 
Jacques,  and  of  the  heroine  of 'Horace,'  are  drawn  from  the  quick. 
To  her  everything  in  nature,  in  character,  in  men's  fauingSt 
cruelties,  meannesses,  was  so  much  material  for  copy,  ai  well 
^as  so  much  of  the  stuff  that  her  own  life  was  made  of    Her 
power  of  observation  seems  never  to  have  slumbered,  and  her 
memory  never  to  have  ceased  making  records  for  her  faocjto 
arrange.     To   anyone  who   reads   her   autobiography,  and  r^* 
members  the  charges  which  her  personal  enemies  made  against 
her,  this  trait  will  account  for  many  things.     She  always  ito(Kl 
half  apart  from  her  own  life,  ready  to  design  and  describe  tb^ 
passions  into  which  others  threw  all  their  souls  too  vehementlj'' 
to  retain  much  artistic  consciousness.     Thus  her  stock  of  mattes' 
.for  the  details  of  fiction  was  practically  infinite,  though  a^l 
experience  reduced  itself  to  some  few  general  forms  of  lor^^ 
desire,  and  renunciation.     What  has  been  said  about  Balxac'^ 
impassive  dissection  of  women's  hearts  applied,  it  seems,  t4^ 
this  lady's  study  of  the  womanish  hearts  of  certain  men. 

It  is  superfluous,  and,  in  a  foreign  critic^jperhaps  impertines^v 
to  praise  the  style  of  George  Sand.     Mr.  Thackeray  has  spoked* 
-of  ^  the  charm  of  her  sentences ;  they  seem  to  me  like  the  sound, 
of  country  bells,  provoking  I  don't  know  what  vein  of  mnsL^^ 
and  meditation,  and  falling  sweetly  and  sadly  on  the  ear.'    N^> 
French  writer  excels  her  in  that  changeful  and  graceful  harmon^^"' 
of  sound,  in  which  the  prose  language  of  her  country  is  as  ric^, 
as  the  poetic  style  is  to  English  ears  poor  and  meagre.    It  l^ 
this  charm,  most  strongly  present  in  her  purest  works,  that  wil' 
preserve  a  part  of  the  writings  of  George  Sand,  till,  perhaps* 
the  miseries  of  her  own  career,  and  the  less  happy  side  of  her 
•extraordinary  character,  have  ceased  to  be  remembered. 

'  Too  bad  for  blessing,  and  too  good  for  banning,  like  Ro^ 
Roy,'  is  the  cautious  verdict  that  public  opinion  seems  inclined 
to  pass  on  George  Sand.  As  long  as  she  seemed  the  heresiarcb 
of  a  new  movement  in  favour  of  anarchy,  and  of  a  revolt  of 
women,  there  was  good  reason  to  denounce  her.  It  has  been 
shown  that  she  soon  laid  aside  all  pretensions  to  that  roki 
and,  indeed,  she  was  denounced  in  turn  by  the  friends  oi 
'  emancipation.'  If  she  wrote  much  that  it  is  painful  to  think 
a  woman  should  have  penned,  and  analysed  miserable  aitn* 
ations  and  passions  from  which  taste  as  well  as  morality  tarns 
in  disdain,  even  in  this  respect  she  was  pure,  compared 
with  many  writers  of  her  country.  Not  passion,  but  a  restk** 
curiosity,  urged  her  to  examine  some  painful  struggles  between 
.sentiment  and  duty,  or  between  this  and  that  lawless  affection. 

No 


Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia.  449 

>  one  can  read  her  biography  and  her  novels,  and  continue  of 
*,  opinion  that  love,  as  between  man  and  woman,  was  one  of 
f  most  masterful  forces  in  her  nature.  Perhaps  it  would  have 
^n  better  if  she  could  have  pleaded  this  excuse ;  but  whether 
r  fact  attracts  or  repels  sympathy,  the  excuse  of  passion  it 
tent.  Compared  with  the  romances  of  living  French  writers 
stories  seem  almost  spotless;  and  no  one  who  knows 
»ich  literature  will  argue  that  she,  with  her  idealism,  gave 
bad  example  from  which  the  monstrosities  of  Belot  and 
l^  have  descended.  She  kept  in  her  own  way,  and,  strange 
Imcr  notions  of  goodness  and  of  truth  were,  she  was  firm  enough 
I&er  adherence  to  them.  This  appearance  of  morality  makes 
*  to  very  young  people,  perhaps,  more  dangerous  than  writers 
ose  wickedness  disgusts.  But  as  things  stand  in  the  art  of 
U[ioe,  it  is  not  slight  praise  to  have  possessed  a  conscience 
any  sort,  and  to  have  acted  on  its  dictates.  In  regard  to  her 
raonal  conduct,  we  shall  probably  judge  George  Sand  most 
ilj  and  charitably  if  we  set  against  the  wildness  which  made 
f  youth  an  extreme  expression  of  the  anarchy  of  her  time,  the 
pevolent  calm  of  her  old  age.  If  she  broke  roughly  with  many 
lends,  at  least  she  kept  the  affections  of  the  severe  M.  Buloz, 
bo,  for  months  before  his  death,  used  to  declare  that  he  heard 
i«  voice  of  his  old  contributor  calling  to  him  to  follow  her. 


IKT.  VI. — 1.  Russia.   By  D.  Mackenzie  Wallace,  M.A.,  Member 

01  the   Imperial  Russian   Geographical  Society.      London. 

2  vols.  8vo. 

Reports  on  Land  Tenure  in  Russia^  by  T.  Michelle  H.B.M. 

Consul  at  St.  Petersburg  ;  in  the  Reports  from  Her  Majeetjfs 
Representatives  respecting  the  Tenure  of  Land  in  the  several 
Qmntries  of  Europe,  c.  75.  Parliamentary  Papers,  1869- 
1870. 

JBurly  Russian  History.  Four  Lectures  delivered  at  Oxford. 
Bj  W.  R,  S.  Ralston,  M.A.,  &c.  &c.     London,  1875. 

Mbarat^s  Handbook  for  2Vavellers  in  Russia^  Poland^  and 
FinkauL     Third  edition,  revised.     London,  1875. 

r.  WALLACJETS  book  deserves  a  cordial  welcome,  as  ranch 
for  the  opportuneness  of  its  publication  as  for  its  intrinsic 
crllmcr ;  and  its  fitness  to  the  time  transforms  what  we  raigfat 
cte  tlMNiglit  a  defect  into  a  merit.  After  living  nearly  riz 
mn,  not  meiriy  in  Russia,  where  sojoorDers  of  another  stamp 
i^l  qicnd  sixty  to  less  purpose,  but  in  the  closest  converse 
illi  HKB  of  aU  classes,  and  with  the  peaaantiy  in  particiilar,  he 
Y6L 143.— Ab.  2S6.  2  o  has 


450  Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia. 

has  judged  well  in  selecting  for  his  present  work,  from  the  large 
mass  of  materials  concerning  the  past  history  and  present  oaft- 
dition  of  the  country  which  have  accumulated  in  his  hind^ 
those  merely  which  seemed  most  likely  to  interest  the  geoersl 
public.     This  first   instalment   of   information  and  entertaif^" 
ment — for   Mr.  Wallace  has  the  happy  art  of  blending  bofcfc 
without  letting  either  spoil  the  other — furnishes  ample  food  fo^ 
thought  and  much  light  which  is  greatly  needed  at  the  preieES.^ 
crisis  ;  while  we  wait  for  the  ^  special  investigations  r^aidim^ 
the  Rural  Commune,  various  systems  of  Agriculture,  the  Hiitor^ 
of  the  Emancipation,  the  present   economic   condition  of  tk^ 
Peasantry,  the  Financial  System,  Public  Instruction,  recent  ^^ 
tellectual  Movements,  and  similar  topics,'  which  are 
for  a  future  volume. 

Indeed,  the  wealth  of  matter  already  poured  out  before  us  i 
the   present   work,   and   its   admirable   opportuneness  for  tin 
enlightenment  of  that  ^  invincible  ignorance '  which  seemi 
be  no  disqualification  for  the  most  confident  judgments,  foi 
a  real  embarrassment  to  the  reviewer.     We   must,   therefore:^ 
leave  to  the  reader  of  Mr.  Wallace's  book  the  pleasure,  unanti 
cipated  by  any  samples,  of  reading  the  personal  adventures 
experiences  of  travel  and  life  in  Russia,  which  he  relates 
a  commendable  freedom  from  the  various  forms  of  affectatioiMK' 
that  are  the   besetting   sin  of  the  prosy  or   magniloquent  or' 
boastful  or  facetious  traveller.     Nor  assuredly  can  he  be  chargeA 
with  that  worst  form  of  afiectation — *  veni,  vidi,  scripsi ' — whicl»- 
has  made  some  writers,  whom  we  will  not  name,  but  whoi^ 
proceedings  we  have  ourselves  witnessed  in  Russia,  a  laughing" 
stock  and  a  by-word. 

The  contrast  to  such  book-making  visitors  cannot  be  better 
marked  than  by  Mr.  Wallace's  own  simple  account  of  how^ 
he  passed  his  time  in  Russia : — 

<In  March  1870  I  arrived  for  the  first  time  in  St  Petenedniig' 
My  intention  was  to  spend  merely  a  few  months  in  Russia,  but  I 
unexpectedly  found  so  many  interesting  subjects  of  study  thai  I 
remained  for  nearly  six  years — till  December  1875.  *  During  ^ 
period  my  winters  were  spent  for  the  most  part  in  St.  Peterslmigf 
Moscow,  and  Yaroslaf^  whilst  the  summer  months  were  genenJlf 
devoted  to  wandering  about  the  country  and  collecting  infonnatuio 
from  the  local  authorities,  landed  proprietors,  merchants,  priests^  and 
peasantry.  Since  my  return  to  England  I  have  kept  up  a  oonstast 
correspondence  with  numerous  Russian  friends,  so  that  I  have  bees 
able  to  follow  closely  what  has  taken  place  in  the  short  intemL' 

It  may  be  worth  while  to  show  the  value  of  such  a  xesideooe 
to  such  an  observer,  by  a  comparison  with  the  last  great  woikon 

Rnssb 


Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia.  451 

I  of  an  importance  at  all  comparable  to  Mr.  Wallace's. 
Baron  Augast  von  Hazthausen,  in  bis  special  quest  of 
lation  for  tbe  study  of  tbe  Slavonic  races,  spent  only  tbe 
IS  from  tbe  spring  to  November  of  1843  in  a  tour  from 
m  to  tbe  Volga,  over  tbe  steppe  to  Kertcb  and  tbe  Caucasus, 
i  returning  to  tbe  Crimea  and  Odessa,  and  tbrougb 
em  and  Little  Russia  back  to  Moscow.*  Tbe  great  value 
work  wbicb  Von  Haxtbausen  produced  by  adding  years  of 
to  tbe  observations  of  little  more  tban  six  montbs  may 
b  some  measure  of  tbe  superstructure  wbicb  Mr.  Wallace 
»e  expected  to  raise  on  tbe  foundations  laid  in  as  many 

I  no  disparagement  of  Mr.  Wallace's  merits  to  add  that 
bservations  made  by  one  wbo  is  a  traveller  and  visitor, 
or  a  very  considerable  time,  need  criticism  and  correction 
tbe  kind  of  knowledge  acquired  by  babitual  residents, 
rank  statement,  just  cited,  sbows  bow  ^  unexpectedly ' 
Buad  novel  be  found  tbe  field  of  enquiry.  Tbe  sojourner 
e  sake  of  study  must  lay  bimself  out  to  acquire  infor- 
a  from  various  sources,  among  wbicb  bis  discernment 
0  be  ever  striking  a  balance ;  but  tbe  foreigpaer  wbose 
ations  bave  led  bim  to  make  Russia  bis  bome  acquires 
K)wledge  of  tbe  country  and  tbe  people  almost  insensibly 
a  vast  number  of  influences  converging  to  one  set  of 
lents,  wbicb  may  be  often  wrong,  but  are  at  least  a  natural 
b.f  Of  no  country  is  tbis  more  true  tban  Russia,  wbere, 
n  Haxtbausen  truly  says,  ^  Wboever  would  earnestly  study 
ndition  of  tbe  country,  and  observe  its  national  life  with 
judiced  eyes,  must  first  of  all  forget  everything  be  has 
n  other  countries  upon  tbe  subject.'  To  any  one  wbo  has 
iind  of  acquaintance  with  Russia  there  is  something 
ng  in  tbe  way  in  wbicb  Mr.  Wallace's  book  has  been 
Died  as  a  sort  of  revelation.     That  very  much  of  what  be 

e  French  edition  of  Yon  Haxthansen's  work  is  entitled  *  Stodes  sat  la 
m,  &c.  &c.  de  la  Rnasie.'  8  vols.  Hanovre,  1847-58.  There  is  a  trans- 
bj  Mr.  Bohert  Farie,  entitled  *  The  Russian  Empire :  its  People,  losti- 
and  BesoTtroes.'  2  vols.  London,  1856.  The  special  work  of  Von 
.nsen  on  the  Oancasns  and  Transcaucasia  has  also  heen  translated  into 
1. 

this  point  of  view,  as  well  as  from  the  contrast  of  the  epochs  of  Catherine  IL 
ucanaer  II.,  it  is  most  interesting  and  instructive  to  compare  lir.  Wallace's 
ith  the '  View  of  the  Russian  Empire,*  written  at  the  end  of  the  last 
by  the  Rey.  William  Tooke,  F.R.S.,  an  accomplished  scholar,  who  was  for 
d  years  chaplain  of  the  Russia  Ck>mpany  at  St  Petersburg.  Mr.  Tooke  also 
'  History  of  Russia  from  the  Founaation  of  the  Monarchy  bv  Rurik  to  the 
on  of  Catherine  the  Second,'  and  a  *  Life  of  Catherine  IL,'  which  may 
read  with  advantage,  not  the  less  for  the  graceful  style  which  was  oultiTated 
age. 

2  0  2  has 


452  Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia^ 

has  told  U8  was  not  only  known,  but  had  been  told  before,  cloe» 
not  in  the  least  detract  from  the  service  he  has  done  by  tellings 
it  so  well  again,  but  proves  how  much  the  public  ignoranccr 
needed  that  service  to  be  repeated,  and  in  the  same  propoidoa 
claims  our  thanks  to  him  for  rendering  it  at  a  moment  v> 
opportune. 

How  many  are  the  Englishmen  who  have  any  other  con- 
ception of  Russia  than  of  a  region,  people,  and  power,  muty  m 
proportion  to  its  vastness,  ever  growing  by  some  inscmtaUe 
law  of  strange  fate  or  insatiable  ambition,  whose  vague  and 
threatening  aspect  is  magnified  or  distorted  or  denied  by  the 
prejudices  which  owe  their  strength  to  the  ignorance  which 
calm  and  laborious  enquiry  would  dissipate  ?  Amidst  an  almost 
absolute  ignorance  of  the  real  state  and  feelings  of  the  pwj^^ 
how  few  are  the  figures  of  their  rulers  and  great  men  who 
stand  forth  with  any  distinctness  I  The  upward  limit  of  oor 
general  knowledge  may  be  marked  at  only  two  centuries  ago  bj 
Voltaire's  flattering  phrase,  *•  Peter  was  bom  and  Russia  was 
formed :'  and  iis  outline  may  be  traced  by  the  able  and  stem 
despotism  of  Catherine,  as  insatiable  in  ambition  as  in  Init; 
the  mad  tyranny  of  Paul ;  the  dreamy  enthusiasm  of  Alexander  L, 
now  succumbing  to  the  fascination  of  Napoleoo  at  Tilsit,  now 
defying  the  power  which  found  its  fatal  term  at  Moscow,  now 
fondly  seeking  a  millennium  of  despotic  order  in  the  Holy 
Alliance ;  the  towering  form  and  iron  will  of  Nicholas,  whom 
no  subject  ever  durst  contradict,  meeting  his  Nemesis  in  the 
Crimean  War ;  and  the  far  nobler  spirit  of  Alexander  II.,  the 
emancipator  of  the  serfs,  whose  good  intentions  none  distrost, 
whatever  foundation  they  may  be  destined  to  lay  for  the  futoie* 
These  conspicuous  actors  in  the  stirring  scenes  of  the  recent 
history  of  Russia  and  Europe  fill  the  stage  and  intercept  the 
view  of  that  long  vista  of  eight  preceding  centuries,  in  which 
the  people  and  government  were  gradually  acquiring  the  cha- 
racter that  has  been  fully  formed  during  the  last  two  hundred 
years.  The  very  peculiar  historical  development  of  Russia  i» 
the  key  to  that  present  social  and  <  political  organisation,  lo 
which  she  differs  so  widely  from  Western  Europe.  This  troth 
is  fully  recognised  by  Mr.  Wallace,  and  is  illustrated  by  the 
historical  episodes  and  allusions  scattered  through  his  volumes' 
He,  in  the  natural  course  of  a  traveller,  plunges  into  the  country 
as  it  is,  and  traces  back  the  state  of  things  which  be  witneffcs 
to  their  historic  source.  We,  in  order  fully  to  understand  and 
reap  the  fruit  of  his  observations,  enter  the  field  of  enquiry  hj 
a  different  avenue.     To  obtain  a  clear  notion  of  what  RotfU 

and  the  Russians  really  are,  we  must  trace  back  the  stream  w 

their 


Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia,  453 

their  national  life  to  its  historic  source,  enquiring  how  they 
became  what  they  are  ;  and  from  the  light  which  the  past  reflects 
Qipon  the  present,  we  may  at  least  prepare  our  minds  to  make 
tome  forecast  of  the  future,  by  learning  how  their  present 
:endencies  are  working,  whether  towards  improvement  or 
leterioration.  To  the  clearer  light  gained  from  this  point  of 
riew  is  added  the  interest  derived  from  '  la  charme  des 
>ri^nes.' 

None  can  undertake  to  write  of  Russia  without  being  at  once 
(track  and  almost  dazzled  with  the  mere  material  vastness  of 
lie  Empire,  whose  northern  shore  stretches  in  an  unbroken  arc 
>Ter  little  less  than  half  the  circle  that  surrounds  the  Pole.* 
&boat  a  century  ag^  this  physical  grandeur  formed  the  boast  of 
the  Empress  Catherine  II.,  in  her  '  Letter  of  Grace'  (1785)  to 
the  Russian  nobility :  '  The  Russian  Empire  is  distinguished 
on  the  globe  by  the  extent  of  its  territory,  which  reaches  from 
the  eastern  bonlers  of  Kamtchatka  to  beyond  the  river  Drina, 
which  falls  into  the  Baltic  at  Riga;  comprising  within  its 
limits  a  hundred  and  sixty-five  degrees  of  longitude  ;  extending 
from  the  mouths  of  the  rivers  Volga,  Kuban,  Don,  and  Dnieper, 
irhich  fall  into  the  Caspian,  the  Palus  Maeotis,  and  the  Euxine, 
as  Car  as  the  Frozen  Ocean,  over  two-and-thirty  degrees  of  lati- 
tude.'! The  surface  of  European  Russia  alone  is  about  equal 
to  that  which  Gibbon  estimates  for  the  whole  Roman  Empire, 
namely  1,600,000  square  miles.  Taking  a  comparison  more 
interesting  to  us,  we  find  that,  with  all  the  acquisitions  made 
nnoe  the  time  of  Catherine,  the  Russian  Empire  is  still  second 
in  magnitude  to  the  British ;  ours  being  estimated  to  cover 
S,871,135  square  miles  of  the  earth's  surface,  theirs  8,325,393 
iqnare  miles :  but  while  the '  Emperor  of  All  the  Russias '(  rules 
by  bis  autocratic  will  nearly  eighty-six  millions  of  sul^'ects,  no 
lets  than  about  286  millions  yield  allegiance  to  Queen  Victoria. 
We  need  but  suggest  the  fuller  comparison  iji  resources  and 
wealth,  industry  and  civilisation. 

Speaking  now  of  European  Russia  only,  it  is  a  common  mis- 
conception that  the  territory  of  her  people  has  gradually  extended 

*  Before  the  sale  of  Bussian  America  (Alaska)  to  the  United  States,  the  fttll 
lemicirole  of  180°  of  longitude  was  more  than  completed. 

t  Tooke's '  View  of  the  Russian  Empire/  vol.  i.  pp.  4,  5. 

X  This  title  does  not  refer  to  the  various  divisions  which  make  up  the  Empire, — 
iiioh  aa  OreaL  LiUU,  and  Neva  Btuna,—Bed,  Whiie,  and  Black  Butna  ;  hut  it  was 
Mramed  hy  the  Muscovite  Tsars  to  signify  the  union  of  all  the  former  princi- 
palities into  a  monarchy  under  one  ruler.  In  the  title  of  Catherine  II.  she  is 
ieaoiibed  as  *  Empress  and  Autocratrix  of  all  the  Bussias— of  Moscow,  Kief,  Yla- 
imdr,  Novgorod  r  and  then  follow  the  other  rt^al  titles— *  Tsaritza  of  .ELazan,' 
ke.  The  Rusnoi  are  the  regions  and  states  occupied  hy  Buwicuis  from  the  earliest 
known  history. 

from 


454  Mr.  Wallace'*  Russia. 

from  a  small  nucleus  by  a  long  series  of  successive  acquuitions. 
At  the  epoch  at  which  the  modem  history  of  Russia  starts,  she 
had  lost  a  large  portion  of  what  she  began  from  that  time  to 
regain  ;  a  fact  which  must  not  be  overlooked  in  estimating  the 
impulses  that  have  prompted  her  aggressive  tendencies.    The 
growth  of  the  Russian  monarchy ^  it  is  true,  may  be  traced  from 
its  first  small  germs  (at  least  if  we  are  to  trust  the  native  annals) ; 
but  the  early  history  of  the  Russian  people  is  mingled  insepu^ 
ably  with  that  of  the  great  Slavonic  race,  which  supplanted 
the  Scythians,  who  are  made  famous  by  the  description  of  He^ 
rodotus,  in  the  great  region  of  steppes  and  plains  extending 
northward  from   the   Euxine  and   the   Maeotis  (Sea  of  Axot) 
between  the  Don  on  the  east  and  the  Pruth  and  Vistula  on  the 
west,  the  European  Sarmatia  of  ancient  geography.*     This  name 
vanishes  from  history  in  the  fifth  century  after  Christ,  and  is 
replaced  by  that   of  the  Slavs   and  Slavia,  including  various 
tribes  with  their  specific  names,  in  the  central  and  western  part 
of  modern  Russia,  with  Poland  and  Lithuania.     The  north  and 
east  of  that  vast  region  was  still  peopled  by  the  aboriginal  Fins; 
while  on  the  south,  still  for  a  long  time  to  come,  the  Slavonians 
were  cut  ofi*  from  their  natural  maritime  outlet  at  the  Enzine  by 
the  tribes  which  the  ancients  called  Scythian,  belonging  pro- 
bably to  the  Turkish  family. 

The  name  which  is  now  the  watchword  of  so  many  com* 
plaints  and  aspirations  is  one  of  those — ^fonping  rather  the  role 
than  the  exception  in  the  historical  nomenclature  of  nations— 
which  a  race  has  chosen  for  itself,  not  one  applied  to  them  by 
neighbours.  The  resemblances  between  Slav  and  slavSy  Stri 
and  serfy  are  examples  of  the  fantastic  tricks  of  coincidence.! 
The  word  slava  is  still  used  in  Russian  and  other  Slavonian 
dialects  in  the  common  sense  of  speech  or  tongue^  and  hence  of 
glory. X     For  an  illustration  most  characteristic  of  its  author,  we 

*  Tho  arguments  of  ethnologists  for  the  SlaTonian  character  of  the  SazmatiiDi 
are  confirmed  by  the  evident  probability  that  the  roots  8^rm  and  &rb  ars  ooo* 
nected,  so  that  iSarm-atians  and  Serbs  would  be  ^ulvalent  names ;  and  again  the 
simplest  euphonic  laws  admit  the  identity  of  a-lv  with  S-rb,  that  is,  of  the 
Sarmatian,  Slavonian,  and  Servian  names.  Moreover,  tho  Latin  •ermo  is  almott 
identical  in  meaning  with  the  Slavonian  «2ava,  both  signifying  articulate  aoQ 
intelligible  speech. 

t  It  may  be  well  to  point  out,  once  for  all,  that  the  form  Solav  is  one  of  tb« 
Germanisms  which  we  strangely  allow  to  corrupt  our  orthography  of  SlaToniftu 
names.  The  arbitrary  distinction  of  orthography  between  tdlave  and  dave  is  not 
needed  by  those  who  have  knowledge,  and  only  misleads  those  who  wish  to  ^^^f^, 
it.  Another  corruption  to  be  noted  once  for  all  is  the  transformatioQ  of  theoDV 
V  into  the  to,  which  in  German  represents  the  v,  but  not  in  English.  NoTiOD  th« 
other  hand,  is  tho  sound  so  sharp  as  our/,  which  of  late  years  has  grown  into/ 
The  proper  forms  in  writing  are  Kiev,  Ignaiiev,  ic.  Ac,  not  Kief  or  IgnoH^ior/)- 

X  Like  the  Greek  and  I^tin  4*^fxvj  fama,  from  <prifu,fat%  *  to  speak.' 

mav 


Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia.  455 

nay  cite  the  despatch  of  Suvarov  to  Catherine  II.,  in  four  lines 
3f  Russian  poetry,  announcing  his  capture  of  Tutukaj  in  Bul- 
garia:— 

*8lavaB6gu!  < Praise  to  Ood ! 
Slava  Vam  I  Praise  to  Ton ! 

TfUukai  vzjcUj  Tatnkay  is  taken, 

I ifa  tarn*  And  I  am  there.' * 

rhe  Slavonians  then,  in  their  native  appellation,  are  people  of 
\he  Umgxtej  that  is,  those  whose  language  is  intelligible,  while 
:hey  call  Germans,  the  first  foreigners  with  whom  they  had  to  do, 
ind  hence  all  Western  Europeans,  NxemUy^  ^  dumb  people ;'  just 
IS  the  Teutonic  race  call  their  Celtic  neighbours  fVeUh^  alike 
In  Britain  and  in  Italy. 

In  the  traditions  preserved  by  old  native  chroniclers,  whose  dim 
>utlines  are  brought  out — like  the  almost  obliterated  characters 
>f  a  *  palimpsest  *  manuscript — ^by  the  study  of  the  original  state 
>f  the  whole  Aryan  familyt — we  can  trace  in  the  social  state 
>f  these  old  Slavonians  some  of  the  most  interesting  elements 
mrviving  in  Russian  peasant  life,  and  now  first  clearly  dis- 
)layed  to  English  readers  by  Mr.  Wallace.  They  were  a 
jcaceful  but  brave  agricultural  people — for  the  Slavs  are  never 
nentioned  as  in  the  nomad  state — living  in  villages  of  wooden 
lats.  Their  social  unit  was  the  patriarchal  family,  composed 
>f  the  descendants  of  one  ancestor,  living  under  the  rule  of 
hat  common  father  or  his  oldest  surviving  kinsman,  tilling  their 
)wn  land,  and  administering  justice  and  other  matters  of  common 
interest  within  their  own  circle.  A  group  of  such  family  com- 
munities formed  a  district  (like  the  Teutonic  hundred)  around 
the  town  {gradj  the  later  gorod)  %  which  was  its  religious  and 
political  centre.  The  townships  combined  for  trade  and  mutual 
aefence ;  and  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  such  a  Slavonic 
confederation  already  existed  before  the  dawn  of  Russian  history 
in  the  district  about  Lake  Umen,  on  the  highway  of  overland 
commerce  between  the  seas  of  north-western  Europe  and  the 
Euxine,  Constantinople,  and  all  the  Eastern  world. 

At  that  turning-point  in  history,  when  the  tribes  that  had  over- 
thrown the  Western  Empire  of  Rome  were  assuming  the  perma- 
nent forms  of  the  kingdoms  of  Europe,  when  the  Frank  kings 
were  about  to  set  up  the  new  Roman  empire,  and  the  peoples  of 
the  North  were  yielding  to  the  influence  of  Christian  civilisa- 

*  In  the  Russian  navy  under  Catherine  II.  we  find  such  names  of  shins  as 
Vuitke  Slav,  the  'Higher  Glory/  and  M$tUlav,  the  'Avenging  Glory;'  and  the 
flame  element  appears  in  many  proper  names,  as  Yaro-davt  Bde-dav,  Yekaierinoslav, 

t  It  is  now  almost  superfluous  to  refer  to  Sir  Henry  Sumner  Maine's  great 
iroik  on  *  Village  Communities.'  {  Aa  in  Nov-gorodf  &o, 

tion. 


456  Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia. 

tion,  the  Slavonian  tribes  east  of  the  Baltic  were  distracted  bj 
internal  anarchy  and  mutual  wars.     For  as  yet  the  great  dis- 
covery had  not  been  made,  that  an  affinity  of  race  and  language 
(in  many  cases  reserved   for  modem   ethnologists  to  difoem) 
is  a  social  bond  stronger  than  the  severing  forces  of  interest, 
ambition,  and  quarrels — a  doctrine  curiously  illustrated  by  the 
ancient  and  lasting  animosity  between  the  two  chief  member* 
of  the  Panslavic   family,  the  Russians   and  the  Poles,  alter* 
nately  the  oppressor  and  the  oppressed.     This  is  the  8tioiigest> 
of  the  many  examples  which  history  offers  of  how  practical- 
relations  prevail  over  the  bond  of  kindred  nationality,  canibS' 
an  enmity  the  greater  as  that  bond  is  closer ;  and  the  dream  (^^ 
Panslavism  is  only  to  be  realised  on  the  condition  that  at  learC 
one  branch  of  the  family  shall  enter  the  sacred  brotherhood  ii^ 
the  character  of  Helots. 

Into  this  social  chaos  there  bursts  one  of  those  sadden  beam^ 
of  light,  which  aTe  tantalising  from  their  very  clearness,  became 
we  can  only  walk  in  the  light  with  the  fear  that  criticism  may  con* 
jure  it  back  to  darkness.    The  first  and  best  of  the  early  Russiia 
chroniclers — Nestor,  a  monk  of  Kiev,  who  died  at  the  beginning* 
of  the  twelfth  century — tells  a  tale  curiously  resembling  the 
account  given  in  our  own  venerable  Chronicle  of  the  first  settle-* 
ment  of  the  Angles  in  Britain.     The  scene  is  laid  at  Novgorod^ 
the  oldest  city  of  Russia,  whose  name,  however,  the  ^  New  Fort 
or  City,'  argues  it  the  new  capital  of  an  older  State.*     This 
cradle  of  Russian  history,  where  the  millennial  festival  of  the 
nation's  birth  was  commemorated  by  the  erection  of  a  monument 
in  18B2,  stands  about  eighty  miles  southward  of  the  newest 
capital,   whose   German'\    name   symbolises   the  great  change 
which  has  since  passed  upon  the  ruling  powers  of  Russia. ,  Nov- 
gorod is  on  the  river  Volkhov,  a  little  below  the  point  where  it 
flows  out  of  Lake  Ilmen  towards  Lake  Ladoga,     The  waterwaj 
up  this  river — continued,   after  the  interruption  of  a  narrow 
watershed,  by  the  downward  stream  of  the  Dnieper  (the  migbtj 
Borysthenes  of  the  Greeks) — furnished  a  passage  from  the  Baltic 
to  the  Euxine,  whether  for  peaceful  commerce  or  piratical  excur- 
sions.    The  ninth  century,  as  was  but  too  well  known  beyond 
the  Baltic  as  well  as  on  its  shores,  marked  the  very  climax  of  the 
daring  adventures   of  the   Scandinavian    sea-kings,  known  to 
the  English  as  Vikings  and  to   the  Slavonians  as  Variagi  or 
Varangians-X  *^ 

*  Tradition  places  this  older  city,  or  gardorik,  in  Old  Ladoga. 

t  St.  Peters^mr^  contrasted  with  "Soy-gorod, 

X  The  origin  of  this  name  is  sought  in  the  Slavonic  Watjazi,  'allies'  or* con- 
federates/ from  looro,  *  a  compact '  or  *  alliance.'  Custom  prescribes  keeping  the 
more  euphonious  form  with  tlie  ng.    It  is  still  a  subject  c^  debate  wh^«r  the 

VaiMgJ^ 


Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia.  457 

^t  that  time,'  says  the  Bnssian  chronicler,  *  as  the  southern  Sla- 
ians  paid  tribute  to  the  Eazars,*  so  the  NoTgorodian  ShiTonians 
sred  from  the  attacks  of  the  Yariags.  For  some  time  the  Yariags 
acted  tribute  from  the  Novgorodian  Slavonians  and  the  neighbour- 
Finns;  then  the  conquered  tribes,  by  uniting  their  forces,  drove 
the  foreigners,  out  among  the  Shivonians  arose  strong  internal 
Busions ;  the  clans  rose  against  each  other.  Then,  for  the  creation 
rder  and  safety,  they  resolved  to  call  in  princes  from  a  foreign  land. 
'he  year  862  Slavonic  legates  went  away  beyond  the  sea  to  the 
LAg  tribe  called  Bus,  and  said,  **  Our  land  is  great  and  fruitful,  but 
e  is  no  order  in  it ;  come  and  reign  and  rule  over  us."  Three 
liers  accepted  this  invitation,  and  appeared  with  their  armed  fol- 
ITS.  The  eldest  of  these,  Burik,  settled  in  Novgorod ;  the  second, 
iUS,  at  Byelo-ozero ;  and  the  third,  Truvor,  in  Isborsk.  From  them 
land  is  called  Bus.  After  two  years  the  brothers  of  Burik  died, 
ilone  began  to  rule  over  the  Novgorod  district,  and  confided  to  his 
the  administration  of  the  principal  towns.' — Wallace,  voL  i. 
MO-l. 

*he  reigpaing  families  in  all  the  Russian  principalities  claimed 
ascent  from  Rurik  during  the  seven  centuries  which  elapsed 
the  final  extinction  of  his  line  in  the  sixteenth  century. 
ike  the  most  recent  English  historians  in  the  parallel  case, 

Wallace,  after  a  thorough  study  of  the  subject,  is  inclined 
everse  the  judgment  of  the  sceptical  critics,  and  to  accept 
tradition  in  its  essential  point,  the  establishment  of  a  Scan- 
sivian  principality  over  the  Slavonians  in  the  valley  of  the 
khov,  with  its  capital  at  Novgorod.  The  patriotic  chronicler 
f  have  disguised  a  conquest  under  the  fiction  of  a  voluntary 
itation.  While  the  incidents  of  the  story  resemble  the 
itonic  invasion  of  Britain,  the  nature  of  the  conquest  bears 
dll  greater  likeness  to  that  which  was  about  the  same  time 
paring  for  England  by  the  settlement  of  Rolf  the  Ganger  in 
iistria.t  1^®  conquest  was  achieved,  in  both  cases,  not  by  a 
^ting  nation  but  by  a  band  of  warriors — the  chief  and  his 
ipanions,  who  became  the  nobles,  called  in  Russian  boyars 
iho  were  gradually  absorbed  among  the  conquered  people, 
pting  their  langfuage  and,  in  a  great  measure,  their  national 
^ents  and  character ;  but  Russia,  unlike  England,  received 

name  of  the  conquering  Rus.X     The  new  state  also,  like 

England 

^Qgians  were  Scandinavian  'Northmen/  or  adventurers  of  variooa  nations; 
^hire  seems  little  doobt  that  their  chiefii  were  Beandioayians. 
One  of  the  Scythian  tribes  mentioned  above,  on  the  northern  shores  of  the 
ine. 

^he  date  assigned  to  the  conquest  of  Rnrik  is  862 ;  that  of  the  landing  of 
m  Nenstria  is  876. 

VarioDs  attempts  have  been  made,  though  with  little  sncoess,  to  find  the 

original 


458  Mr.  Wallace^  Russia. 

England  under  the  Normans,  acquired  something  of  the  adveo* 
turous  spirit  of  the  conquerors ;  and  as  an  agricultural  people^ 
seeking  possession  of  new  lands,  their  growth  was  henorfortb 
in  great  measure  a  process  of  colonisation. 

Launching  their  light '  keels '  upon  the  Dnieper,  the  VarangiaA 
chieftains  soon  established  their  power  at  Kiev,  a  city  of  110* 
known  antiquity,  and  well  fitted  by  its  strong  position  on  tlxc 
right  bank  of  the  river*  to  become  their  new  capital,  and  A^^ 
*  Mother  of  Russian  Towns.'    That  title  is  said  to  have  been  giTen 
by  Oleg,  the  kinsman  of  Rurik,   and  guardian  of  that  chief's 
young  son  Igor,  who  in  882  transferred  the  seat  of  power  froKZi 
Novgorod  to  Kiev,  putting  to  death  the  first  Varangian  corm— 
querors  of  the  city.     Kiev  held  the  supremacy  for  some  gene- 
rations, but  Novgorod  maintained  the  commercial  consequence 
due  to  its  site  ;  and  both  capitals  became  centres  of  the  tradim^ 
ventures  which   the   Scandinavians,  when    once    settled  in    ^ 
country,  pushed  forward  with  the  same  energy  that  they  thit^fc' 
into   their   piratical    excursions.      We   need   but   refer  to  tla* 
passage  in  which  Gibbon  describes  the  Russians  of  Novgort>« 
descending  the  streams  that  fall  into  the  Borysthenes ;  theix 
canoes  laden  with  the  slaves  procured  by  conquest,  piracfjO'' 
purchase,  with  the  furs  obtained  from  die  ruae  hunters,  th^ 
spoils  of  their  beehives,   and  the  hides  of  their   cattle;  dis- 
charging the  produce  of  the  North  into  the  magazines  of  Kiev. 
Thence  a  summer  fleet   of  more  substantial  galleys  droppeo 
down  the  Borysthenes  into  the  Euxine,  communicating  with  the 
heart  of  Europe  by  the  mouths  of  the  Danube,   crossing  the 
shores  of  Asia  Minor,   and  paying  their   annual   visit  to  the 
capital  of  the  East.     They  brought  back  to  their  northern  homes 
a  rich  return  of  corn,  wine  and  oil,  the  manufactures  of  Greece, 
and  the  spices  of  India. 

And  here  already  our  first  glimpse  of  the  Russians  as  a  nation 
shows  them,  in  the  ninth  century  as  in  the  nineteenth,  threaten- 
ing the  tottering  empire  that  had  its  seat  at  Constantinople.  But 
there  is  this  mighty  difference:  the  Christian  empire  soon 
attracted  the  northern  adventurers  to  friendship  by  a  religious 
bond  ;  the  Moslem  power  challenges  their  perpetual  ennutj, 
not  only  by  religious  antagonism,  but  by  its  actual  usurpation 
of  the  centre  whence    their  Christian  faith  was  learned,     b 


original  of  the  Russians  among  the  ancient  names  of  tribes  inhabiting  Sarmftb** 
Jt  is  hardly  safe,  however,  to  assume,  on  the  authority  of  the  legend,  that  tb^ 
name  Btu  belonged  to  the  Varangian  conquerors,  and  not  to  the  conqneiw 
SlAvonians. 

*  Good  authorities  derive  the  name  from  the  height  (Kivi  in  SlavonitD)  or 
which  the  city  was  built.  There  is  little  doubt  that  this  part  of  the  Dnieper 
valley  was  the  original  seat  of  the  Bussian  nation. 

botli 


Mr.  Wallace'*  Bussia.  459 

botli  cases  there  was,  and  still  is,  the  seductive  attraction  of  the 
most  favoured  seat  of  natural  advantages,  wealth,  and  empire,  on 
tko  surface  of  the  earth.    The  Varangian  chiefs  no  sooner  beheld 
tho  magnificence  and  tasted  the  luxury  of  the  city  of  the  Greek 
Caesars,  than  thej  came  down  upon  it  again  and  again  in  their 
cha^xacter  of  pirates.     Quarrels  would  easily  spring  out  of  the 
deciJings  between  the  northern  traders  and  the  Greek  merchants ; 
ba^  the  best  pretext  for  attack  was  the  prospect  of  success  against 
th^    Empire,  decaying  through  its  internal  weakness  and  dis- 
tm^i^ted  ;by  the  Saracens  and  other  foes.     As  early  as  the  third 
yea^r  after  the  foundation  of  Rurik's  power  (according  to  the 
chx-onicles)  the  Prince  of  Kiev  dispatched  a  fleet  of  200  canoes, 
(c&LUed  by  the   Greeks  monoxylaj  as   they  were  hollowed   out 
of    9  single  stem  of  beech  and  willow),  which  surprised  Con- 
it&Kntinople  in  the  absence  of  the  Emperor  Michael,  whose  inter- 
cession with  the  Mother  of  God  procured  the   repulse  of  the 
hwl^arians  by  a  seasonable  storm.     The  enterprise  was  repeated, 
with  more  numerous  fleets  of  boats,  by  Oleg  f904),  by  Igor,  the 
wtk  of  Rurik  (941),  and  a  century  later  by  his  great-grandson, 
Yafcioslav  (1043) ;  but  generally  repelled  by  the  terrors  of  the  Greek 
fcf<e%     These  reiterated  alarms,  however,  left  on  the  superstitious 
J^yzantines  that  impression  of  an  end  decreed  by  fate,  which 
{<mnd  utterance  in  the  prophecy  secretly  inscribed  on  a  statue  of 
Bellerophon  in  the  square  of  Taurus,  that  the  jRussians  in  the  last 
<fayi  should  beceme  masters  of  Constantinople,     Little  could  the 
Bjzantine  Cassandra  have  foreseen  that  the  threat  would  still  be 
suspended  over  the  city  four  hundred  years  after  the  Greek 
Empire  had  succumbed  to  another  power,  then  almost  unknown ; 
and  as  little,  perhaps,  could  the  historian  have  expected  that  his 
anticipation  of  the  instant  catastrophe  would  still  read,  a  century 
later,  as  if  written  for  to-day.      *Perhaps,'  says  Gibbon,   *  the 
present  generation  may  yet  behold  the  accomplishment  of  the 
prediction,  of  which  the  style  is  ambiguous,  and  the  date  unques- 
tionable/ 

Before  the  last  of  these  four  assaults  from  Kiev,  the  Greek 
Eonpiie  and  Church  had  formed  a  connection  with  the  Russian 
Principality  by  the  powerful  bond  of  religious^  union  and  ascen- 
dancy, when  the  able  and  victorious  Vladimir  accepted  Chris- 
tianity, as  the  condition  on  which  alone  the  joint  Emperors 
Basil  II.  and  Constantine  IX.  granted  his  suit  for  the  hand  of 
their  sister,  or  cousin,  Anna  (985).  This  reception  of  Chris- 
tianity from  the  Eastern  capital,  and  not  from  Rome,  was  one  of 
the  most  efficient  causes  in  determining  the  whole  course  of 
Russia's  subsequent  progress  and  her  relations  to  the  old  and 
new  powers  of  Europe.     It  made  her  a  sort  of  reversionary  heir 

to 


460  Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia. 

to  the  expiring  Christian  empire  enthroned  on  the  Bosporus  and 
enshrined  at  St.  Sophia,  and  it  linked  her  to  the  civilisation  of 
the  East  instead  of  the  West.     The  perpetuation  of  this  idea  of 
her  national  life  is  the  leading  sentiment  of  the  old  Roisian 
party,  which  ascribes  her  whole  departure  from  the  right  course 
to  the  Western  influences  first  brought  in  by  Peter  the  Great- 
As  the  city  founded  by  that  first  ^  Emperor,'  on  a  German  models 
and  with  a  German  name,  is  the  centre  and  type  of  the  modem 
isystem,  so  the  ancient  capital  of  the  Muscovite  Tsars  is  still  tb^ 
home  and  heart  of  the  old  ideas  of  national  life.     The  contnist 
is  admirably  drawn  by  Mr.  Wallace   in  his  two  chapters  oi» 
*  St.  Petersburg  and  European  Influence,'  and  on  *  Moscow  and 
the  Slavophils.' 

The  small  party  of  literary  enthusiasts,  whose  name  of  *  SIsto— 
phils '  signifies  their  intense  attachment  to  the  native  SlavonE^ 
dements  of  Russian  life,  must  not  be  confounded  with  the  po&** 
tical  advocates  of  '  Panslavism '  as  the  aim  and  means  of  Rossis.-^^ 
aggrandisement.     It  is  true  that  their  sympathy  with  the  whol  ^ 
Slavonic  race  assumes  a  form  *  violently  patriotic  and  bellicoi^ 
when  excited  by  political  complications  in  which  that  race  »-^ 
concerned,  as  they  have  shown  by  their  active  assistance  to  tl».^ 
Servians ;  and  '  they  seem  to  favour  the  idea  of  a  g^nd  Slavoiw.^ 
<x)nfederation,  in  which  the  hegemony  would,  of  course,  beloift^ 
to  Russia.'     But  the  Eastern  Question  is  with  them  quite  sa^-* 
ordinate  to  that  of  the  internal  state  of  Russia.      *By  their 
theory  they  were  constrained  to  pay  attention  to  the  Slav  race  »s 
a  whole,   but  they  were  more   Russian  than    Slav,  and  more 
Moscovite  than  Russian.     The  Panslavistic  element  has  con- 
sequently always  occupied  a  secondary  place  in  Slavophil  doc- 
trine.'    It  is  of  importance  at  the  present  time  to  understand 
that  doctrine,  as  it  was  set  forth  to  Mr.  Wallace  by  the  leading 
Slavophils. 

*  The  European  world  was  represented  as  being  composed  of  two 

hemispheres — the  Eastern,  or  GrsBCO-Slavonic,  on  the  one  hand,  tni 

the  Western,  or  Roman  Catholic  and  Protestant,  on  the  other.  Those 

two  hemispheres,  it  was  said,  are  distinguished  from  each  other  y^ 

many  fundamental  characteristics.     In   both  of  them  Ghristisnity 

formed  originally  Ihe  basis  of  civilisation,  bat  in  the  West  it  becamd 

distorted  and  gave  a  false  direction  to  the  intellectual  development 

By  placing  the  logical  reason  of  the  learned  above  the  conscience 

of  the  whole  Church,  Roman  Catholicism  produced  ProtestantiflD, 

which  proclaimed  the  right  of  private  judgment  and  conseqasntl/ 

produced  innumerable  sects.     The  dry  logical  spirit  which  was  thQ<i 

fostered  created  a  purely  intellectual   one-sided  philosophy,  whidi 

inevitably  leads  to  utter  scepticism,  by  blinding  men  to  those  gi^ 

truths  which  lie  above  the  sphere  of  reasoning  and  logic.    The 

GiMO^Tonie 


Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia.  461 

avonic  world,  on  the  contrary,  haying  accepted  Christianity 
Borne  but  from  Byzantium,  received  pure  Orthodoxy  and 
ghtenment,  and  was  thus  saved  alike  from  Papal  tyranny 
I  Protestant  freethinking.  Hence  the  Eastern  Christians 
terved  faithfully  not  only  the  ancient  dogmas,  but  also  the 
ipirit  of  Christianity— that  spirit  of  pious  humility,  resig- 
knd  brotherly  love,  which  Christ  taught  by  precept  and 
If  they  have  not  yet  a  philosophy,  tiiey  will  create  one, 
ill  far  surpass  all  preyious  systems,  for  in  the  writings  of 
k  Fathers  are  to  be  found  the  germs  of  a  broader,  a  deeper,, 
ler  philosophy  than  the  dry,  meagre  rationalism  of  the  West 
Dsophy  founded  not  on  the  logical  fScu^ulty  alone,  but  on  the 
MUsis  of  human  nature  as  a  whole. 

fundamental  chfiracteristics  of  the  Grsdco-SlaTonic  world — 
be  Slayophil  theory — ^have  been  displayed  in  the  history  of 
Whilst  throughout  Western  Christendom  the  principle  of 
I  judgment  and  reckless  indiyidual  egotism  have  exhausted 
L  forces  and  brought  society  to  the  verge  of  incurable  anarchy 
[table  dissolution,  the  social  and  political  history  of  Bussia 
harmonious  and  peaoefuL  It  presents  no  struggles  between 
rent  social  classes,  and  no  conflicts  between  Church  and 
yi  the  factors  have  worked  in  unison,  and  the  develop- 
;  been  guided  by  the  spirit  of  pure  Orthodoxy.  But  in  this 
>us  picture  there  is  one  big,  ugly,  black  spot — Peter,  falsely 
;he  Great,"  and  his  so-called  reforms.  Instead  of  following 
policy  of  his  ancestors,  Peter  rejected  the  national  traditions 
oiples,  and  applied  to  his  country,  which  belonged  to  the 
world,  the  principles  of  Western  civilisation.  1£b  reforms, 
L  in  a  foreign  spirit,  and  elaborated  by  men  who  did  not 
he  national  instincts,  were  forced  upon  the  nation  against 
smd  the  result  was  precisely  what  might  have  been  expected. 
3ad  Slavonic  nature  "  could  not  be  controlled  by  institutLons 
d  bten  invented  by  narrow-minded,  pedantic,  German  burean- 
1  like  another  Samson,  it  pulled  down  the  building  in  which 
egislators  sought  to  confine  it.  The  attempt  to  introduce 
lulture  had  a  still  worse  effect.  The  upper  classes,  charmed 
ded  by  the  glare  and  glitter  of  Western  science,  threw 
es  impulsively  on  the  newly-found  treasures,  and  thereby 
dd  themselves  to  moral  slavery  and  intellectual  sterility, 
ely,  however — and  herein  lay  one  of  the  fundamental 
s  of  Slavophil  doctrine — the  common  people  had  not  been 
by  the  imported  civilisation.  Throngh  all  the  changes  whidk 
listration  and  the  noblesse  underwent,  the  peasantry  preservecl 
ly  in  their  hearts  **  the  living  legacy  of  antiquity,"  the  essence 
an  nationality,  ''a  clear  spring  welling  np  living  waters^ 
nd  unknown,  but  powerfuL"  *  To  recover  this  lost  legacy 
ing  the  character,  customs,  and  institutions  of  the  peasantry^ 

was  one  of  the  fiAYoiirite  themee  of  Khomiakdf,  the  Slavophil  poet  aadl 


462  Mr.  Wallace'^  Bussia. 

to  lead  the  educated  classes  back  to  the  path  from  wliich  theylMd 
strayed,  and  to  re-establish  that  inteUectnal  and  moral  unity  lAoA 
had  been  disturbed  by  the  foreign  importations — such  was  the  iMk 
which  the  Slavophils  proposed  to  themselves.' — Vol.  IL  pp.  167-169. 

When  Vladimir  I.,  whom  Russia  honours  among  her  chief 
saints,  died  in    1015,  he   left  the   nascent  monarchy  abeady 
reaching  from  the  Gulf  of  Finland  nearly  to  the  Carpathian 
Mountains,  and  from  the  borders  of  Poland  and  Lithuania  to 
the  banks  of  the  Oka  and  the  Volga,  in  which  Eastern  region 
he  had  founded  the   new  princely  city  that  bears  his  name. 
During  the  half-legendary  period  which  ends  with  his  reign, 
not  one  feeble  ruler  appears  in  the  Russian  annals.     But  the 
clear  historic  light  into  which  we  now  emerge  reveals  the  sources 
of  confusion  inherent  in  the  constitution  of  the  federal  princi- 
pality which  had  its  seat  at  Kiev.     By  what  is  known  as  the 
system  of  the  *  Appanages,'  every  descendant  of  Rurik  was  held 
to  have  a  right  to  a  separate  principality,  independent  of  all  the 
other  princes  except  the  eldest,  who  ruled  at  Kiev,  and  bore 
the  title  of  Veliky  Kniaz^  or  Grand  Prince.     The  establisheil' 
order  of  succession  being,  not  from  father  to  son,  but  to  th^ 
next  brother  or  the  eldest  representative  of  the  race,  there  w»* 
a  constant  shifting  of  rulers  from  principality  to  principJit^v 
involving  rival  claims  to  the  supreme  digpiity,  and  tending  to 
perpetual  disorder  and  frequent  civil  wars. 

These   evils   were   partly  suspended   under   such   wise  an^J 
powerful  rulers  as  Yaroslav  I.  (1019-1054),  who  worthily  coa^ — 
tinned  the  work  of  his  father  St.  Vladimir,  and  gave  Russia  he^ 
first  code,  the  '  Russkaya  Pravda ;'  and  again  under  his  grand«oi»^ 
Vladimir  II.  (1113-1125),  sumamed  Monomachus,  after  his  mar—' 
riage  with  the  daughter  of  Constantine  Monomachus.     Beside^ 
this  matrimonial  alliance,  the  name  of  Vladimir  is  connectec3> 
with  Constantinople  by  a  cherished  legend,  which   tells  hoi^ 
he  had  carried  his  victorious  arms  into  Thrace,  when  Alexia 
Comnenus,  the  son  of  Constantine,  stayed  his  progress  bj  ^ 
present  of  the  regalia  with  which  the  Metropolitui  of  Ephesn* 
crowned  Vladimir*  at  Kiev  as  Tsar  of  Russia.f     These  regab* 
are  still  preserved  in  the  Treasury  at  Moscow,  and  are  brought  t<^ 
view  at  the  coronation  of  each  new  Tsar;   and  at  least  oo^ 
sovereign  of  Russia,  Catherine  II.,  hoped  and  laboured  to  ^ 

*  This  is  the  title  which  those  writers  who  look  at  Bnsaia  thiovigfa  GtfipiB 
spectacles  have  turned  into  '  Grand  Duke/  and  tho  principalities  into  *I>iiofai^ 

t  This,  not  Czar,  is  the  true  form  of  the  title,  which  was  used  by  the  Butfi*?' 
before  the  Tartar  conquest,  and  was  applied  to  the  Greek  emperor,  whoao  ^ 
(Constantinople)  was  called  Tsargrad.  It  was  also  used  by  toe  TirtiK  *** 
incline  to  tiuoe  its  origin  to  the  widespread  fame  of  the  title  '  Cnssr.' 

"them 


Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia.  463 

used  at  the  enthronement  of  her  grandson  Constantine 
ath  the  dome  of  St.  Sophia. 

was  a  natural  result  of  the  system  of  appanages,  that  the 
^macj  of  Kiev,  and  the  digpaity  of  Grand  Prince,  should  be 
hI  and  challenged  bj  the  rest ;  and,  indeed,  there  must  have 

great  strength  in  that  federal  sentiment  which  acquiesced 
te  headship  of  one  city  for  nearly  three  centuries.  The  chief 
[  of  union  is  to  be  sought  in  the  Church ;  not  so  much  in  the 
ionising  influence  and  civilising  gentleness  of  the  Gospel 
eace — ^for  that,  alas!  in  Eastern  as  in  Western  Europe, 
become  a  dubious  survival — ^but  especially  in  the  unity  and 
oisation  which  the  Church  maintained,  while  the  nation 
rent  in  pieces.  Amidst  the  divisions  and  strife  of  rival 
npalities,  which  shook  the  prince's  throne  at  Kiev,  there  was 
ys  but  one  Metropolitan,  seated  beside  him  on  the  priest's 
le,*  and  enjoying  the  undivided  allegiance  of  the  clergy, 
here,  again,  is  another  parallel  between  the  development  of 
tlossian  state  in  this  age  of  divided  principalities  and  that 
ngland  during  the  ^  Heptarchy.'  Each  country  received  a 
formed  ecclesiastical  constitution  from  the  centres  of  Eastern 
Western  Christianity  respectively,  which,  besides  the  har- 
ising  and  mediating  influence  of  the  Church  among  the  con- 
ing princes,  held  out  to  them  a  pattern  of  national  unity, 
h  was  at  last  accomplished  in  the  state, 
eanwhile,  however,  the  dissensions  came  to  a  climax  fatal 
le  power  of  Kiev,  which  city  was  stormed  and  pillaged  in 

I  by  Andrew,  Prince  of  Vladimir,  who  assumed  the  dignity 
rrand  Prince.  Henceforward  the  supremacy  was  held  by 
limir,  or  Souzdal  (as  Russian  annalists  call  the  principality 

its  older  capital),  till  the  whole  system  of  severed  princi- 
ies  was  overwhelmed  in  the  common  catastrophe  of  the 
ar  conquest,  out  of  which  the  Russian  State  emerged  in  a 
form  of  union  under  the  Tsars  of  Muscovy. 
lie  achievements,  contests,  and  disasters  of  the  Princes  during 
period  thus  sketched  throw  into  the  shade  those  elements 
opolar  life  which  may  be  traced  from  a  time  even  earlier 

the  age  of  Rurik,  and  which  form  the  most  profitable  study 

II  who  wish  to  understand  what  Russia  is,  and  to  forecast 
'nture  part  in  the  history  of  the  world.  It  is  in  the  treat- 
t  of  this  part  of  the  subject  that  Mr.  Wallace  has  rendered 
rvice  which,  most  valuable  at  any  time,  is  inestimable  at 
>resent  juncture.     In  conversing  with  Russians  of  all  classes 

n  the  BnniaDf  as  in  the  Anglo-Saxon  seata  of  dignity,  there  is  that  identity 
^nflRio  for  both  {stohl^  Le,  "stool,"  or  ** chair"),  which  wo  have  lost  in  the 
m  EngliaH  throne  and  Me. 

on 


464  Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia. 

on  the  questions  raised  by  the  present  crisis,  we  are  always  m^ 

by  the  remonstrance,  ^  Your  people  and  statesmen  in  England 

think  only  of  the  Russian  Government,  its  policy,  tradition^ 

and  designs,  real   or  imaginary,  but   they   do   not  know  tb^ 

Russian  people;'  and  that  knowledge,  we  repeat,  can  only  b 

intelligently   gained   from   their  history.     The  huge  fabric  o 

despotic  Government,  and  the  imposing  part  which  it  has  eio 

powered  Russia  to  play  in  the  drama  of  European- politics  dnriisi 

the  last  two  centuries,  have  concealed,  almost  to  obliteration,  tb^ 

two  primitive  elements  of  communal  life  among  the  peasantry 

and  municipal  liberties  in  the  towns.     The  former  is  best  iiM 

covered  by  plunging,  as  Mr.  Wallace  has  done,  into  the  life  o 

the  country  districts ;  the  latter  by  recurring  to  the  annals  whid 

reveal  a  political  condition  that,  to  our  present  conceptions  o 

Russia,  may  well  appear  a  dream.     During  the  whole  period  o 

divided  Principalities,  the  towns  preserved,  in  various  degreefl 

a  free  constitution  under  the  government  of  their    Vetehiy  o: 

Common  Council,  and  of  the  general  assembly  of  the  citizen' 

summoned  by  the  ringing  of  those  famous  bells,  the  transferaic9 

of  which  to   Moscow   formed   a  collection  of  trophies  of  da^ 

extinguished  liberties  of  Tver,  Pskov,  Novgorod,  and  the  reiL 

The  record  of  those  lost  liberties  is  best  traced  in  the  annaX 

of  Novgorod,  where  they  reached  a  height  of  almost  Repablic»s 

independence.     Sheltered  by  its  marshes  from  conquest  eitfatfs 

by  rival  princes  or  by  foreign  invaders,  and  enriched  by  tlm^ 

increasing  commerce  which  poured  through  it  as  the  RuniBJ 

States  grew  in  power  and  civilisation,  the  city  of  Rurik  coxM- 

fessed  little  more  than  a  nominal  fealty  to  the  distant  Graik^ 

Prince  at  Kiev.     Its  virtual  independence  was  proclaimed  l^J 

the  title,  '  Lord  Novgorod  the  Great ;'  and  its  prosperity  exulted 

in  the  proverb,  '  Who  can  resist  God  and  the  Great  Novgorod? 

The  people  chose  their  own  prince,  though  always  from  the  lii^* 

of  Rurik,  and  exacted  from  him  an  oath  to  respect  their  prirE' 

leges.    They  associated  with  him  civil  and  military  chiefs,  whor^ 

he  was  bound  to  consult ;  the  real  government  was  in  the  baiMM 

of  the  Council,  with  their  Posadnik  (that  is,  first  or  chief  person)  5 

and  every  matter  of  interest  might  at  any  moment  be  submitted 

to  the  popular  assembly  at  the  summons  of  any  one  citizen  whc' 

chose  to  ring  the  great  bell.     If  the  Prince  displeased  the  peopfe 

he  was  called  to  account  with  the  greatest  plainness  of  speech* 

and  his  resistance  was  the  signal  for  his  dismissal.     Of  this  w^ 

have  a  famous  example,  doubly  interesting  from  its  occoneiK^ 

in  the   time    of  the    Tartar   domination.     In    1270   Yarp«^^j 

having   obtained    from    the  Tartar  Khan  the    title   of  Grifl" 

Prince,  was  emboldened  to  attempt  despotic  rule.     The  gteit 

bell 


Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia.  465^ 

ell  called  the  people  together  in  the  cathedral  of  St.  Sophia  to* 
spose  their  Prince.  His  favourites  were  put  to  death,  and  an* 
rt  of  accusation  was  drawn  against  himself,  in  which,  after 
sing  called  to  account  for  his  special  misdeeds  in  a  series  of 
>iiited  questions,  he  was  told,  *  Let  thy  oppression  now  cease  ;- 
5^  away  from  us  in  God's  name  I  We  will  find  us  another 
rince.'  If  the  Grand  Prince  attempted  to  stretch  his  supreme- 
idiority  oyer  these  haughty  citizens,  they  could  raise  no* 
sspicahle  force  from  their  own  territory,  which  included 
Lg^a  and  Karelia,  besides  mercenaries ;  and  there  was  always 

danger  of  their  allying  themselves  with  Sweden  and  Li- 
iiatnia.  One  Grand  Prince  who  offended  them  was  fain  ta 
le  the  mediation  of  the  Metropolitan,  who  gave  the  Novgoro- 
Ans  a  guarantee,  in  terms  which  would  hardly  be  written  in 
le  name  of  a  modem  Tsar,  say  to  the  Poles :  *  The  Grand 
rixice  has  acted  wrong  towards  you  ;  but  he  is  sorry  for  it  all  ; 
B  desires  you  to  forgave  him,  and  will  behave  better  for  the 
iture.  I  will  be  bound  for  him,  and  beseech  you  to  receive 
lA  with  honour  and  dignity.' 

Owing  to  its  remote  and  defensible  position,  and  the  com- 
)mation  of  high  spirit  in  its  citizens  with  the  prudent  policy 
rf  its  most  eminent  Princes,  Novgorod  preserved  its  indepen- 
^ce  when  the  other  Russian  States  succumbed,  in  the 
''^Ufteenth  century,  to  what  is  called  the  Tartar  conquest.* 
^}uit  catastrophe  is  a  most  critical  turning-point  in  Russian 
Distory,  though  the  best  authorities  differ  as  to  the  question  with 
■'aich  alone  we  are  now  concerned,  namely.  What  has  been  its 
j^nnanent  influence  on  the  character  and  destiny  of  Russia? 
p^Hie  readers  may  perhaps  even  need  to  have  their  minds 
^^bosed  of  the  idea  that  the  purely  Slavonic  Russian 
^herits  much  of  the  blood  and  character  of  the  Tartar ;  a 
^^Hion  perpetuated  in  the  literally  superficial  saying  of  Na- 
'^leon,  ^Grattez  le  Russe  et  vous  trouverez  le  Tartare;'  and 
^proved  upon  by  Captain  Bumaby  in  the  comment,  that  it  is  a 
^•Oss  injustice  to  the  Tartar.f     On  the  other  hand,  we  cannot 

It  is  useless  to  attempt  to  restore  the  more  correct  orthography  Tatar  (or 
l^ler  Tah4an),  in  place  of  the  form  which  has  prevailed  ever  since  St.  Louis 
t^iioteiised  the  invaders  as  fiends  from  Tartarus.  Not  only  the  nomenclature  of 
^^*iar,  Turk,  and  Mongol,  but  tlieir  precise  ethnology,  is  involved  in  a  degree  of 
^^^kfiision  wMoh  this  is  not  the  place  to  discus?.  In  the  present  connection  the 
IJ^lOe  Tartar  may  be  the  more  readily  adopted,  ad  the  Russian  annalists  call  the 
^Urkkh  subjects  of  the  Mongol  empire  Tataru, 

t  Perhaps  the  gallant  and  able,  but  rather  prejudiced  traveller,  had  in  his 
^^  one  of  Baron  Dupin's  bona  mots.  When  a  member  of  the  Left  protested. 
Wnst  the  mention  of  the  Red  Republicans  in  connection  with  Robespierre,  the 
^KiridoDt  asked, '  Does  the  honourable  deputy  wish  to  defend  the  character  of 
WespieRe?* 

Vol.  143.— Ab.  286,  2  H  «.eec^\. 


466  Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia. 

accept   the   novel  view  of  some    Russian  writers,  headed  by 
the   historian   Soloviev,  *    that   the   influence   of   the    Tartars 
was  no  greater  than  that  of  the   minor  nomad   tribes  whicl^ 
occupied  the  south  and  east  of  Russia  during  the  whole  period 
of  her  early  history.     The  opinion  prevalent   in  Russia,  and 
almost  universal  among  foreign  enquirers,  regards  this  *  factor 
as  one  of  deep  and  lasting  influence,  extending  to  the  preseo-t 
time.     Mr.  Wallace — who,   in  the  candid   prosecution  of  re?-" 
searches  novel  to  him,  is  somewhat  too  much  inclined  to  ^haJ-^ 
between   two  opinions' — keeps   quite   on   the  safe  side  wh&i^ 
he  says : — '  It  must  be  admitted  that  the  Tartar    dominatioc^^ 
though  it  had  little  influence  on   the  life  and  habits  of  tl&^ 
people,  had  a  very  deep  and  lasting  influence  on  the  politic^J- 
development  of  the  nation.'  t 

We  need  only  refer  to  the  glowing  pages  of  Gibbon  for  tk^ 
rise  of  the  Mongol  Empire  under  Genghis  Khan  and  his  meteor"" 
like  conquests  from  China  to  the  banks  of  the  Volga.  Of  th^ 
many  tribes  brought  under  his  dominion  and  serving  under  hi.^ 
banner,  the  Turks:]:  of  Western  Central  Asia  would  naturally 
form  a  large  portion  of  the  hordes  that  invaded  Europe;  aa 
hence,  though  the  conquering  empire  was  Mongol,  the  acttt^-^ 
conquerors  were  probably  for  the  most  part  of  the  Turkish 
It  was  in  1223  that  the  vanguard  of  the  Tartar  hosts,  ponrin 
round  the  southern  shores  of  the  Caspian,  turned  the  Caucasv-^ 
by  the  pass  of  Derbend,  and  fell  upon  the  Polovsti  in  what  i-^ 
now  Southern  Russia.  These  hitherto  inveterate  enemic^ 
applied  to  the  Russian  Princes  for  help  against  the  commo' 
danger ;  but  when  their  prayer  was  granted,  they  deserted  the£ 
new  allies  in  the  fatal  battle  on  the  river  Kalka,  which  floi^- 
into  the  Sea  of  Azov  at  Mariupol.  The  conquering  horsemcr»-a 
like  the  locusts  which  some  suppose  to  be  their  prophetic  synB*" 
bol,  laid  waste  the  land  as  far  as  the  Dnieper,  and  then  suddenljK 
wheeled  round  and  retraced  their  steps  to  Asia.  Fourteen  year^ 
later  they  returned,  a  host  of  half  a  million  cavalry,  under 
Batu,  the  grandson  of  Genghis  Khan,  who,  after  one  brief 
respite,  completed  in  1240  the  conquest  which  reduced  all  the 
Russian  States,  except  Novgorod,  to  tributary  servitude.  The 
great  cities,  Riazan,  Moscow,  Vladimir,  Tchemigov,  and  princely 
Kiev  itself,  were  sacked  and  burnt,  with  all  the  horrors  that 
have  been  repeated  and  retaliated  by  both  the  rival  races ;  and 
the  towns  and  villages  and  fields  of  the  industrious  cnltivaton, 

*  Mr.  Wallace  (vol.  i.  p.  lOO")  characterises  the  '  gigantio  work  of  Bofcrryoftof 
Solovief/  as  *■  simply  a  vast  collection  of  yaluable  but  undigested  materisL* 
t  Vol.  ii.  p.  69,  in  the  chapter  on  *  The  Tartar  Domination.* 
X  This  term  is  of  course  used  here  in  its  wide  generic  sense. 

who 


Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia.  467 

irixc  had  been  slaughtered  or  made  slaves  while  but  a  few  had 
found  refuge  with  their  kindred  Slavonians,  were  reduced  almost 
U>    a  fire-scathed  desert. 

-After  overrunning  Hungary,  Poland,  and  Moravia,  and 
tkneatening  Western  Europe  like  another  Attila,  Batu  received 
A  c^heck  and  led  back  his  hosts  to  the  region  of  the  Lower 
Volga.  There  he  founded  the  city  of  Saraiy  the  *  palace '  of  the 
Golden  Horde,  whence  the  Tartar  Khans  ruled  the  conquered 
P^jDcipalities  of  Russia  for  200  years. 

^  At  Sarray  in  the  land  of  Tartarye 
There  dwelt  a  King  that  werryed  Russye.'  * 

Bixt;  the  nature  of  their  domination  was  widely  different  from 
^^  fury  of  the  first  conquest.  The  cruelties,  which  had  served 
^^xr  purpose  in  crushing  all  military  resistance  and  cowing  the 
Jpi^it  of  the  people,  were  not  wantonly  continued  over  the  land 
6roj[aa  which  the  Tartar  rulers  desired  to  draw  a  revenue,  though 
•'*^3r  were  ruthlessly  renewed  on  the  first  effort  of  the  reanimated 
**-^ion  to  cast  off  their  yoke.  For  no  less  than  150  years  the 
'^■^d  had  such  rest  as  its  exhaustion  allowed  it  to  enjoy,  and  a 
^''^sithing  space  for  the  revival  of  a  new  phase  of  existence. 
^^^  catastrophe  had  cut  short  the  old  path  of  progress  at  the 
®*"3r  point  from  which  Western  Europe  began  to  enter  on  its 
''*=^«titutional  life ;  and  the  form  that  at  last  emerged  was  alto- 
^^lier  different  from  the  rest  and  peculiar  to  Russia. 

-^^^r.  Wallace  gives  a  very  clear  description  of  the  conduct  of 
^^  Tartar  conquerors  to  their  Russian  subjects,  and  the  process 
7  "^vhich  their  relations  to  the  subject  Princes  prepared  the  way  for 
k*^-"^  new  phase  of  Russian  history — the  Muscovite  Tsardom : — 

^In  conquering  Eussia  the  Tartars  had  no  wish  to  take  possession 
A  %lie  soil,  or  to  take  into  their  own  hands  the  local  administration, 
^^f^^at  they  wanted  was  not  land,  of  which  they  had  enough  and  to 
4(^:^8,  but  movable  property  which  they  might  enjoy  without  giving 
tip  their  pastoral  nomadic  life.     They  applied,  therefore,  to  Bussia 
Ate  same  method  of  extracting  supplies  as  thoy  had  used  in  other 
cormtriee.    As  soon  as  their  authority  had  been  formally  acknow- 
ledged they  sent  officials  into  the  country  to  number  the  inhabitants 
snd  to  collect  an  amount  of  tribute  proportionate  to  the  population. 
This  was  a  severe  burden  for  the  people,  not  only  on  account  of  the 
wm,  demanded,  but  also  on  account  of  the  manner  in  which  it  was 

*  The  opening  of  Chancer's  Squire's  tale  of  'Gambuscan  bold.'  The  word 
toarai  means  'mansion,'  or  'palace,'  and  teraglio  is  its  derivative.  After  the 
liberation  of  Rnssia  from  the  Tartars,  Sarai  was  sacked  and  bnmt  by  a  rival 
horde,  its  rains  were  covered  bj  the  soil  of  the  steppe  and  its  very  site  was  for- 
gotten, till  its  remains  were  discovered  by  a  Russian  engineer  in  1840.  Full 
aeoomits  of  the  excavations  are  given  in  the  Russian  *  Journal  of  the  Minister  of 
the  Interior'  for  1845, 1847,  Ac— Ralston,  pp.  114, 115. 

2  H  2  t«i»^« 


468  Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia. 

raised.  The  exactions  and  cruelty  of  the  tax-gatherers  led  to  loei^ 
insurrections,  and  the  insurrections  were  of  course  always  severely 
punished.  But  there  was  never  any  general  military  oocapatioa  (^ 
the  country  or  any  wholesale  confiscations  of  land,  and  the  existing 
political  organisation  was  lefk  undisturbed.  The  modem  method  A 
dealing  with  annexed  provinces  was  totally  unknown  to  the  Ttrtin. 
The  &ans  never  for  a  moment  dreamed  of  attempting  to  Tartirise 
their  Eussian  subjects.  They  demanded  simply  an  oath  of  illegi- 
anoe  from  the  Princes,  and  a  certain  sum  of  tribute  from  the  people. 
The  vanquished  were  allowed  to  retain  their  land,  their  rdigion, 
their  language,  their  courts  of  justice,  and  all  their  other  institntioiu. 

'  Had  the  Ehans  of  the  Oolden  Horde  been  prudent,  &r-«eemg 
statesmen,  they  might  have  long  retained  their  supremacy  over  Btusia. 
In  reality  they  showed  themselves  miserably  deficient  in  politicil 
talent.  Seeking  merely  to  extract  from  the  country  as  much  trilmte 
as  possible,  they  overlooked  all  higher  consideralionB,  and  by  this 
culpable  shortsightedness  brought  about  their  own  political  im 
Instead  of  keeping  all  the  Bussian  Princes  on  the  same  level  vA 
thereby  rendering  them  all  equally  feeble,  they  were  oonstently 
bribed  or  cajoled  into  giving  to  one  or  more  of  tiieir  vassals  a  pre- 
eminence over  the  others.  At  first  this  pre-eminence  seems  to  have 
consisted  in  little  more  than  the  empty  title  of  Grand  Prince ;  bat 
the  vassals  thus  favoured  soon  transformed  the  barren  distinction  into 
a  genuine  power,  by  arrogating  to  themselves  the  exclusive  right  of 
holding  direct  communications  with  the  Horde,  and  compelling  the, 
minor  Princes  to  deliver  to  them  the  Tartar  tribute.  If  any  of  the 
lower  Princes  refused  to  acknowledge  this  intermediate  authority, 
the  Grand  Prince  could  easily  crush  them  by  representing  them  ftt 
the  Horde  as  rebels  who  did  not  pay  their  tribute.  Such  an  aocnsi^ 
tion  would  cause  the  accused  to  be  summoned  before  the  Supreme 
Tribunal,  where  the  procedure  was  extremely  summary  and  the  Grand 
Prince  had  always  tiie  means  of  obtaining  a  decision  in  his  own 
favour. 

'Of  all  the  Princes  who  strove  in  this  way  to  increase  their 
influence,  the  most  successful  were  the  Princ€|p  of  Moscow.  They 
wore  not  a  chivalrous  race,  or  one  with  which  the  severe  moralist  can 
sympathise,  but  they  were  largely  endowed  with  cunning,  tact,  and 
perseverance,  and  were  little  hampered  by  conscientious  scruples 
Having  early  discovered  that  the  liberal  distribution  of  money  at  the 
Tartar  court  was  the  surest  means  of  gaining  favour,  they  lived 
parsimoniously  at  home,  and  spent  their  savings  at  the  Horde.  To 
secure  the  continuance  of  the  favour  thus  acquired,  they  were  ready 
to  form  matrimonial  alliances  with  the  Khan's  family,  and  to  >^ 
zealously  as  his  lieutenants.  When  Novgorod,  the  haughty,  turbu- 
lent Republic,  refused  to  pay  the  yearly  tribute,  they  quelled  the 
insurrection  and  punished  the  leaders ;  and  when  the  inhabitants  of 
Tver  rose  against  the  Tartars  and  compelled  their  Prince  to  make 

common  cause  with  them,  the  wily  Muscovite  hastened  to  the  Tartar 

coort 


Mr.  Wallace'*  Russia.  469 

•court  and  received  from  the  Elhan  the  revolted  principality,  with 
50,000  Tartars  to  support  his  authority. 

<  Thus  those  cunning  Moscow  Princes  "  loved  the  Tartars  beyond 
measure "  so  long  as  the  Khan  was  irresistibly  powerful,  but  as  his 
power  waned  they  stood  forth  as  his  rivals.  When  the  Gk)lden 
Horde,  like  the  great  Empire  of  which  it  had  once  formed  a  part,  fell 
to  pieces,  these  ambitious  Princes  read  the  signs  of  the  times,  and 
put  themselves  at  the  head  of  the  liberation  movement,  which  was  at 
first  unsuccessful,  but  ultimately  freed  the  country  from  the  hated 
Tartar  yoke. 

'  From  this  brief  sketch  of  the  Tartar  domination  the  reader  will 
readily  perceive  that  it  did  not  by  any  means  Tartarise  the  country. 
The  Tartars  never  settled  in  Bussia  Proper,  and  never  amalgamated 
with  the  people.  So  long  as  they  retained  their  semi-pagan,  semi- 
Buddhistic  religion,  a  certain  number  of  their  notables  became 
Christians,  and  were  absorbed  by  the  Bussian  Noblesse ;  but  as  soon 
as  the  Horde  adopted  Islam,  this  movement  was  arrested.  There 
was  no  blending  of  the  two  races  such  as  has  taken  place — ^and  is 
still  taking  place — ^between  the  Bussiai^  peasantry  and  the  Finnish 
tribes  of  the  North.  The  Bussians  remained  Christians,  and  the 
Tartars  remained  Mahometans ;  and  this  difference  of  religion  raised 
an  impassable  barrier  between  the  two  nationalities.' — ^Yol.  ii« 
pp.  64>69. 

The  Prince  of  Moscow,*  who  is  regarded  as  the  founder  of 
the  Muscovite  power,  was  Ivan  I.f  Q328-1340).  Most  of  the 
other  cities  were  subjected  to  his  riile,  and  even  Novgorod  was 
made  to  pay  the  Tartar  taxes,  by  farming  which  he  enriched 
liimself.  His  friendship  with  the  Tartars  secured  his  subjects 
from  the  harrying  of  their  homes  and  the  captivity  of  their 
children.  The  growing  power  of  Ivan  was  cemented  by  the 
faYour  of  the  clergy,  to  whom  the  Russian  people — always 
•deeply  devout  according  to  their  own  somewhat  formal  standard 
*of  religion — looked  for  their  chief  solace  under  the  woes  of  the 
Tartar  servitude.  The  clergy  were  sensible  of  the  strength  the 
Church  would  gain  by  connection  with  one  strong  principality ; 
and  Moscow  now  became  the  see  of  the  Metropolitan,  a  dignity 
£rst  held  by  Kiev,  and  afterwards  by  Vladimir. 

The  opportunity  for  casting  off  the  barbarian  yoke  was 
^prepared  by  the  conquests  of  Timour  and  the  wars  among  the 
Tartar  tribes,  which  gave  a  death-blow  to  the  power  of  the 
Golden  Horde.  When  Ivan  III.  succeeded  to  the  Muscovite 
principality,  in  1462,  there  were  three  Tartar  hordes  settled  on 

^  As  with  many  other  old-fashioned  English  forms  of  foreign^  names,  the  name 

Mfueacy  is  nearer  to  tiie  truth  than  the  first  Germanized  and  then   mispro- 

lioiiDoea  MoMow,    It  is  properly  Moskva,  from  the  river  on  which  it  stands,  whose 

Tiaiiie,  like  Oka,  Kama,  and  others,  bears  witness  to  the  long  survival  of  the  Finnish 

•element  in  central  Russia.  f  The  Russian  form  of  *  John.' 

the 


470  Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia. 

the  eastern  and  southern  borders  ;  those  of  Kazan  on  the  Middle 
Volga,  which  even  now  retains  strong  Tartar  characteristics; 
the  Golden  Horde  at  Sarai  ;  and  those  of  Krim  Tartaij  on  the 
Azov  and  Euxinc,  whose  name  survives  in  the  Crimea.  Haring 
formed  an  alliance  with  the  last,  and  made  successful  war  upoa 
the  first,  Ivan  is  said  to  have  been  encouraged  by  his  wife 
Sophia,  niece  of  the  last  Greek  Emperor,  who  reigned  at  the 
now  fallen  Constantinople,*  to  refuse  the  humiliating  ceremoDj 
with  which  the  Grand  Princes  were  wont  to  receive  the  Tartar 
ambassadors  at  Moscow.  The  details  have  a  legendary  aspect ; 
but  the  certain  issue  is  as  strange  as  any  legend.  The  vast  foice 
led  by  Ahmed  Khan  to  avenge  the  insult  remained  the  whole 
summer  and  autumn  encamped  idly  on  the  river  Ugra,  eye& 
after  the  Russian  army  had  retreated  from  the  opposite  bank ; 
and  the  withdrawal  of  Ahmed  to  Sarai,  where  he  was  soon  after 
slain  by  a  rival  Khan,  marked  the  virtual  dissolution  of  the 
Tartar  dominion  over  Russia  (1480). 

Like  the  mighty  waters  whose  deposits  have  built  up  the 
crust  of  our  globe,  the  flood  of  Tartar  domination  has  left  a 
well-defined  stratum  in  the  formation  of  the  Russian  State. 
It  formed  the  first  of  the  two  epochs,  at  which  the  constitu- 
tional development  of  Russia  took  a  fatal  turn  towards  ab- 
solutism. Having  cut  short  the  hope  that  the  early  germs  of 
freedom  would  bear  the  same  fruit  as  in  Western  Europe,  it 
prepared  and  enabled  the  Muscovite  Tsars  to  found  the  Asiatic 
despotism,  on  which  the  Petersburg  emperors  engrafted  an  auto- 
cracy  and  bureaucracy  of  German  origin.  The  despotism,  which 
is  the  one  o'ermastering  evil  of  Russia,  was  not — as  some  admi- 
rers of  paternal  government  seem  to  think — a  natural  develop- 
ment of  the  old  Slavonian  patriarchal  life,  in  which  as  Mr. 
Wallace  clearly  shows,  the  power  of  the  head  of  the  family  and 
of  the  village  commune  is  never  able  to  prevail  over  the  general 
wish.  There,  as  in  every  country  and  age  of  the  world,  despotism 
has  been  an  usurpation,  actually  subversive  of  well-regulated 
order,  not  a  natural  growth  of  high  authority.  The  former 
princes  of  Russia  had  learnt  part  of  the  evil  lesson  from  the 
feyzantine  Caesars ;{  but  the  Tartar  rule  left  the  fatal  legacy  to 
the  Muscovite  Tsars.  As  Mr.  Ralston  truly  says  (p.  202),  'The 
princes,  being  forced  to  be  servile  to  the  Tartars  at  Sarai  or 
the  Mongol  Khans  in  Central  Asia,  compelled  their  subjects  to 


*  Constantinc  XIII.  Palteologus  was  killed  in  the  stonniDg  of  Constantinop'f 
by  the  Turks,  May  29th,  1453. 

X  We  may  trace  back  to  the  Byzantine  empire  and'  the  ecclesiastical  diflciplio^^ 
tlie  frequent  and  cruel  corporal  punishments,  which  some  regard  as  an  inherit»D<^ 
loft  to  Kussia  by  the  Tartars. 

be 


Mr.  Wallace'*  Russia.  471 

be  servile  to  them  ;  and  so  the  spirit  of  manly  independence 
which  appears  to  have  once  prevailed  throughout  Russia,  and 
which  continued  to  manifest  itself  in  Novgorod  and  Pskov  long 
after  it  had  expired  in  the  rest  of  the  country,  became  trans* 
muted  into  a  somewhat  abject  mood  of  loyalty.'  This  political 
servility  is  the  more  conspicuous  from  its  contrast  with  the  air 
of  personal  independence,  verging  on  churlishness,  in  all  the 
common  relations  of  life  with  their  superiors,  which  is  familiar 
to  all  who  know  the  Russian  peasants. 

Such  was  the  price  paid  for  that  elimination  of  the  weaker 
elements  in  the  state  which  the  Tartar  conquest  effected  by 
overthrowing  the  'Appanage'  principalities,  and  for  the  con- 
solidation of  Russia  into  a  strong  monarchy  under  Ivan  III. 
By  skilful  policy,  rather  than  by  force,  he  absorbed  the  remnants 
of  the  old  federal  system,  reducing  the  princes  to  officers  of 
state;  and  the  coincidence  in  time  of  this  change  with  the 
cx>llapse  of  the  feudal  system  in  western  Europe  deserves  notice 
the  more  as  an  occasion  for  observing  that  the  feudal  system 
aever  prevailed  in  Russia  in  any  form.  The  one  remaining 
hindrance  to  his  absolute  power  lay  in  the  freedom  still  pre- 
served and  cherished  by  Novgorod  and  her  colony  and  sister 
Pskov.  Ivan's  dealing  with  these  seats  of  commerce,  which 
enriched  his  people  and  himself,  is  a  striking  example  of  the 
short-sighted  selfishness  of  despotism,  which  never  hesitates  to 
sacrifice  its  own  real  advantage,  besides  the  welfare  of  its  sub- 
jects, to  the  one  supreme  object  of  maintaining  its  power.  A 
brief  war  forced  Novgorod  to  accept  Ivan  as  its  ruler  on  con- 
dition of  governing  the  city  according  to  its  ancient  laws  (1471). 
But  within  seven  years  a  pretext  was  found  for  a  second  attack  ; 
md  on  the  15th  of  January,  1478,  the  men  of  Novgorod  yielded 
up  their  independence  to  Ivan  as  their  despotic  sovereign 
[Gosudar),  But  its  old  spirit  was  not  utterly  crushed,  even 
when  Ivan  removed  thousands  of  Boyars  and  merchants,  with 
their  families,  to  other  provinces,  replacing  them  by  Muscovites ; 
till,  on  a  fresh  charge  of  conspiracy  with  Lithuania,  Ivan  the 
Terrible  sacked  the  city,  and,  amidst  a  general  massacre,  g^ve 
in  the  waters  of  the  Volkhov  a  despotic  precedent  for  the 
republican   noyddes   of  Nantes   (1570).*      Meanwhile,    Pskov, 

*  This  one  among  many  examples  of  the  parallel  excesses  of  despotism  and 
}elf-styled  liberty  is  noticed  by  an  historian  contemporary  with  the  Reign  of 
Terror.  Mr.  Tooke  (*  History  of  Russia,*  vol.  ii.  p.  295,  n.),  in  describing  Ivan  IV/s 
sew  bodyguard  of  tiie  OpritcJmiki^  or  *  elect,'  who  were  also  spies,  delators,  and 
executioners,  adds, '  These  Opritchniki  were  precisely  what  the  company  of  Marat 
irns  some  years  ago  in  France,  wlio  rlrowned  the  royalists  at  Nantes.  Ivan  like- 
irise  caused  a  number  of  people  to  be  brought  on  a  frozen  river,  then  had  the  ice 
cut  round  them,  on  which  the  poor  wretches  fell  in  and  perished  iu  the  water.' 

which 


472  Mr.  Wallace'*  Russia. 

j|¥hich  in  jealous  rivalry  had  joined  Ivan  III.  against  Novgorod, 
had  accepted  the  sovereignty  of  his  son,  Vassily  III.,*  and  the 
last  remnant  of  Russia's  old  municipal  liberties  was  extinguished 
on  the  13th  of  January,  1510. 

There  remain  two  indirect  but  lasting  results  of  the  Tartai 
domination.  First,  it  gave  the  opportunity  for  that  great  Ac 
velopment  of  the  power  of  Lithuania,  now  united  to  Poland  hjf 
the  marriage  of  its  Grand  Prince  Yagellon  with  the  heiress  of  tb^ 
Polish  crown,  which  raised  the  old  rivalry  between  Russia  aito 
her  western  Slavonic  neighbours  into  a  deadly  feud,  aggravateo 
by  the  difference  of  religion.!  But  the  loss  which  Russia  thu^ 
suffered  on  the  west  was  in  great  measure  compensated  by  th.^ 
consolidation  of  her  power  under  the  Muscovite  Tsars. 

The  other  feud  with  the  Turkish  race  (in  the  wide  generic 
sense)  assumed  a  new  and  lasting  shape  from  the  taking  ox 
Constantinople  by  the  Ottomans  just  before  the  liberation  c^^ 
Russia  from  the  Tartar  yoke.  As  Mr.  Wallace  says  in  hi^ 
thoughtful  chapter  '  On  the  Eastern  Question ' : — 

^  All  through  the  long  Tartar  domination,  when  nomadio  horded 
lield  the  valley  of  the  Dnieper  and  formed  a  bamer  between  Bosii^ 
And  Southern  Europe,  the  capital  of  the  Greek-Orthodox  world  w»0 
remembered  and  venerated  by  the  Bnssian  people,  and  in  the  fifteeotl*- 
eentury  it  acquired  in  their  eyes  a  new  significance.    At  that  tim.^ 
the  relative  positions  of  Constantinople  and  Moscow  were  ohsngedL* 
Constantinople  fell  under  the  power  of  the  Turks,  while  Mosoo^^ 
threw  off  the  yoke  of  the  Tartars— the  northern  representatives  of  th^© 
Turkish  race.     The   Grand  Prince  of  Moscow  and  of  all  Bussi^^ 
thereby  became  the  chief  protector  of  the  Greek-Orthodox  Cbiircb»-2 
and  in  some  sort  the  successor  of  the  Byzantine  Tsars.  To  strengthen 
this  claim  he  married  a  member  of  the  old  Imperial  &mily,  andli' 
successors  went  further  in  the  same  direction,  by  assuming  the  tit 
of  Tsar,  and  inventing  a  fable  about  their  great  anoestor  Bunk  beii 
ji  descendant  of  Cassar  Augustus. ' — Vol.  ii.  pp.  443-4. 

AH  the    animosity  engendered  by  two   centuries    of  servitud  -^^ 
was  combined  with  the  indignation  roused  by  the  intrusion  fl^^  ' 
the  followers  of  the  false  prophet  into  the  seat  of  the  Grec^^^ 
-empire  and  religion.     Policy  may  waver,  the  counsels  of  ambi— 
tion  and  of  prudence  may  oscillate  in  the  scales;  butthennt 
^ying  feud  of  the  Russian  people  against  the  Turk  has  no.er 
that  political  wisdom  can  forecast. 

*  The  Russian  form  of  tho  Greek  name  Btitil, 

t  The  Poles,  who  received  Chiistianity  from  Rome,  and  were  for  some  *"•? 
included  in  the  *  Holy  Roman  Empire/  were — as  the  remnant  of  the  naUooB^i** 
are— as  devoted  to  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  as  the  Russians  to  the  Ortho^<^^ 
Greek  Faith.    Yagellon  passed  over  from  tho  Greek  to  the  Latin  Church  asa  t^" 
•ditioii  of  his  marriage  with  Jadwiga  in  1386,  und  his  people,  who  had  till  t^^ 
jemained  heathen,  adopted  the  same  faith.* 

Under 


Mr.  Wallace'*  Russia,  473 

Jnder  Vassily  III.  despotism  advances  to  the  stage  in  which 
Tsar  is  looked  up  to  as  God's  vicegerent  upon  earth,  and 

people  have  Ic^arnt  to  say  of  all  perplexing  questions, 
3d  and  the  Gosudar  will  see  to  that.'  His  younger  brother, 
n  IV.,  well-named  the  *  Terrible,'  is  a  striking  example 
the  madness  which  forms  the  self-bred  Nemesis  of  despotism, 
:  as  Paul  afterwards  followed  Peter  the  Great. 
^he  usurper  Boris  Godunov,  who  murdered  one  son  of  Ivan  IV. 
insure  his  succeeding  the  other,  placed  the  topstone  on  the 
potic  edifice  raised  by  the  Muscovite  Tsars,  by  the  institution 
erfdom.  Former  Tsars  had  fettered  the  free  communal  life 
:he  peasantry  by  many  restrictions,  and  they  had  been  re- 
ed to  the  position  of  labourers  on  the  land  which  they  once 
led  in  common  ;  but  Boris  enacted  a  law  forbidding  them 
eave  the  land  on  which  they  then  lived,  except  by  the  con- 
:  of  the  proprietor  (Nov.  24th,  1597).  Thus,  at  the  great 
ch  formed  by  the  transition  from  the  16th  to  the  17th 
^ory,  when  Western  Europe  had  thrown  off  feudal  serfdom, 

entered  on  a  new  career  of  civilisation  founded  on  the 
imon  interests  of  all  classes,  that  very  peasantry  who  had 
lerved  most  of  the  free  communal  life  of  their  Aryan  fore- 
srs  were  reduced  to  slavery  as  adscripti  glebce^  and  were  placed 
I  semi-Tartar  usurper  '  under  that  system  of  serfdom  which, 
r  his  time,  becoming  wider  and  more  intense  as  years  go 
will,  for  two  centuries  and  a  half,  do  its  worst  to  crush  the 

out  of  the  common  people  of  Russia.'*  Our  present 
pose  does  not  require  us  to  trace  the  scenes  of  confusion  at 
le  and  invasion  by  the  armies  of  Poland  and  Lithuania, 
dst  which  the  long  line  of  Kurik  ended  on  the  11th  of 
Sl610. 

he  victorious  Polish  army  now  forced  on  the  Boyars  of 
cow  the  humiliation  of  accepting  a  Tsar  from  their  heretic 
Is,  in  the  person  of  Ladislas,  son  of  King  Sigismund,  without 
I  the  show  of  consulting  the  nation ;  and  a  Polish  army 
red  Moscow  (Sept.  19th).  But  orthodox  Russia,  encouraged 
he  zeal  and  guided  by  the  prudent  counsels  of  the  Patriarch 
mogenes  and  the  Archimandrite  Dionysius,  rose  against  this 
lax  of  insult.  A  General  Assembly  was  held  at  Nijny  Nov- 
»d  (Oct.  1611)  to  organise  a  revolt ;  and  an  army  marched  on 
cow,  which  surrendered,  after  suffering  the  worst  extremities 
tmine,  before  the  end  of  1612.     An  Assembly  of  the  Estates 

on  the  21st  of  February,  1613,  to  elect  a  Tsar ;  and,  after 

discussion   of  many   claims,  Michael  Romanov,  a  youth 

*  BalBton,  p.  156. 

of 


474  Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia. 

of  sixteen,  (son  of  Fedor  Nikitich  Romanov,  a  noble  of  Prussia^ 
extraction,  and  Metropolitan  of  Rostof,)  was  crowned  Tsar  o^ 
Russia,  on  the  11th  of  July,  1613.     The  house  of  Rom^or  ^ 
said  still  to  reign  in  Russia ;  but  it  is  in  a  sense  so  modified  *^ 
to  be  really  a  fiction,  and  probably  a  falsehood.     To  those  wHo 
imagine    that    despotism   conduces   to   an   orderly,  sncoessiox** 
we   commend   the   study  of  the  complicated  pedigree  of  tb^ 
descendants  of  Peter  the  Great  and  his  brother  Ivan,  with  i^*- 
repeated   infusions  of  German  blood  and   its   successions  l>^ 
female   usurpation,   irregular  election,   and   murder;    the  t^^^ 
Alexanders  being  the  only  Tsars  since  Peter  who  have  suo* 
ceeded  their  fathers.     Nay,  more ;  if  the  general  belief  be  tra^^- 
both  of  them,  together  with  all  the  Tsars  from  Paul  indurir^V 
are  utter  strangers  to  the  blood  of  Romdnov.* 

The  manner  and  conditions  of  Michael  Rom^ov's  electi<>** 
might   seem   at   first  sight  to  have  g^ven  a  hope  of  Russia*  ^ 
entering  anew  on  the  path  of  constitutional  freedom.     He  w»-* 
not  invested  with  the  title  of  Autocrat,t  which  had  been  borne  \^y 
all  the  Tsars  from  Ivan  III.,  and  in  the  Act  of  his  election  mam^ 
important  rights  were  stipulated  for  the   people.      But  tho^sc 
rights  were  no  longer  in  the  safeguard  of  an  independent  ord^x' 
of  nobles,  nor  of  a  middle  class,  such   as  had   founded  aiB.<l 
extended  the  liberties  of  England.     Nor  was  it  a  time  for  coxm— 
stitutional  reforms  when  Russia  was  still  struggling  with  h^r 
Polish  rivals,  shorn  of  her  Baltic  provinces  by  the  might  oi 
Gustavus  Adolphus,  and  cut  off  from  the  Euxine  and  the  Dannl>^ 
by  the  Turks  and  Tartars.     Well-meant   efforts  at  legal  reforan 
earned  the  title  of  '  Father  of  his  Country '  for  Alexei,  the  sod 
of  Michael,  who  has  scarcely  received  due  credit  for  sketching 
some  of  the  better  parts  of  the  work  achieved  by  his  son,  Peter 
the  Great.     And  when  the  marvellous  energy  and  indomitable 
will  of  Peter  secured  for  Russia  the  extension  and  consolidation 
which  gave  her  a  place  among  the  great  states  of  Europe,  the 
opportunity  of  resuming  constitutional  progress  was  sacrificed  to 
the   desire   for   naval    and   military  strength  as  the  means  ol 
imperial   power.     Neglecting,  or  more  probably  unfitted  by  hi* 
rude  nature  to  receive,  the  great  civil  lessons  which  he  might 
have  leamt  while  living  in  England  and  Holland,  Peter  took  for 

♦  Tho  general  belief  referred  to  is  that  Paul,  who  succeeded  Githerrae  H^  •* 
her  son  ])y  her  murdered  husband,  Peter  III.,  was  in  reality  the  son  of  neither, 
but  a  supposititious  child  of  a  peasant  family. 

t  The  Russian  word,  SamoJerjetz.  literally  means  aeJf-holderj  B,ud  is  expref»<l  *J 
the  uknses  issued  in  German  by  Sclhathalier ;  being  derived  from  •am  *8elf,'  f^ 
derju  *  I  keep  or  hold.*  In  the  full  title,  Samoderjttz  vserossyiskie  (or,  for  a  tiaritA 
iSamoderitza  vHeromyiskaia),  the  second  word  is  an  adjeetiye,  which  13  fi^irlJ' 
rather  than  exactly,  represented  bv  tho  phrase  *  of  All  the  Russias.* 

his 


Mr.  Wallace'^  Rtissia.  475 

s  model  the  imperial  and  bureaucratic  despotism  of  Germany, 
icl  proclaimed  this  choice,  as  well  as  his  wide-reaching  ambi- 
>ii,  by  assuming  the  title  of  Emperor  *  in  addition  to  Tsar  and 
itocrat.  The  combination  was  but  too  significant  of  Hhe 
"xorism  which  was  largely  used  by  the  Muscovite  Tsars,  and 
ought  to. a  climax  by  Peter  the  Great  equally  in  both  Church 

d  State.'t 

IThe  better  knowledge  generally  possessed  of  the  history  of 
a^sia  during  the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth  centuries  renders 
sieedless  to  illustrate  the  working  and  growth  of  this  new 
Kpotism  of  military  drill  and  German  bureaucracy  under  the 
i^cessors  of  Peter.  Their  foreigpi  conquests  and  aggressive 
ftigns  form  too  large  a  subject,  and  are  at  this  moment  too 
ich  mingled  with  exciting  disputes,  to  be  mixed  up  with  the 
B^stitutional  and  social  elements  of  the  life  of  Russia. 
Among  those  elements,  we  have  thus  far  traced  the  historic 
use  of  that  one  which  gradually  absorbed  and  overpowered  the 
^archal  freedom  of  the  peasantry,  the  municipal  liberties  of 
i  great  cities,  and  the  independent  privileges  of  the  nobles ; 
ejecting  all  to  the  will  of  one  Autocrat,  and  administered 
ai  host  of  officials,  whose  caprice  and  corruption  were  only 
d  in  check  by  the  stern  account  to  which  their  master  often 
led  them.  That  despotism  reached  a  grandeur  at  once 
[nosing  and  repulsive  under  Catherine,  and  found  in  some 
i^e  its  term  in  the  inflexible,  but  narrow-minded  self-will  of 
oholas.  No  sovereign  had  ever  a  freer  course  to  prove  the 
l>ounded  power  of  doing  good,  which  it  was  once  the  fashion 
d^cribe  to  a  *  benevolent  despotism  ; '  and  we  need  not  relate 
^  failure  of  the  system  which  collapsed  under  the  test  of  the 
imean  War,  and  brought  himself  to  a  despairing  end. 
It  was  that  catastrophe  which  revealed  the  necessity  of  a 
lange,  and  brought  to  the  front  the  social  elements,  hitherto 
i^ershadowed  but  not  extinguished,  in  which  those  who  saw 
Bneath  the  surface  of  the  Russian  state  hoped  to  find  the 
iements  of  regeneration.  Impelled  by  his  own  generous  wisdom, 
id  taught  by  his  father's  failure,  the  present  Emperor  began 
e  work  of  reformation,  and  immortalised  his  name — whatever 
her  burthens  it  may  have  to  bear — by  the  emancipation  of  the 

^  In  this  title  of  the  Kussian  Bovereigns  the  word  is  nsed  in  the  Latin  form, 
peraior  and  ImpereUHx,  not  as  an  equivalent  to,  but  in  conjunction  with  that 
A.titocrat  {Samoderjetz),  The  stress  laid  on  both  in  all  the  documents  of  the 
mtooTs  is  very  significant.  Its  merely  formal  retention  in  the  proclamation 
the  Empress  Anne  was  ts^en  advantage  of  as  being  a  sufficient  discharge  of 
;t  sovereign  from  the  constitutional  obligations  accepted  bj  her  when  she  was 
ited  to  the  throne. 
•  WaUaoe,  vol.  ii  p.  186. 

serfs. 


476  Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia. 

serfs.  And  now,  in  the  working  of  that  most  necessary  measoie 
but  vast  experiment,  in  the  reforms  of  the  judicial  system  and 
local  administration,  and  in  the  upheaving  of  the  social  forces 
which  have  been  long  kept  down,  Russia  imder  Alexander  IL 
presents  a  spectacle  at  home  which  would  be  far  more  interest" 
ing  than  its  foreign  aspect,  were  it  not  that  the  latter  affects  the 
interest  and  safety  of  other  nations.  Nor,  indeed,  can  the  two 
be  separated ;  for  the  internal  state  of  Russia  explains  mnclx 
that  seems  strange  and  wild  in  her  foreign  policy ;  and  tke 
direction  of  that  policy  is  a  chief  determining  element  in  lier 
past  career  and  her  future  fate. 

Her  greatness  as  a  European  and  Asiatic  Power  has  beeis 
purchased  at  the  incalculable  cost  of  withdrawing  from  agri.'* 
cultural  industry  so  large  a  part  of  a  population  already  imtll- 
in  proportion  to  the  soil,*  that  the  military  force  which  will 
be  on  foot,  when  the  new  organisation  of  the  army  is  completed- 
in  imitation  of  the  German   military  system,  is  reckoned  a.*^ 
nearly  two  millions  of  men.     While   the  vastness   of  a  foic^^ 
manifestly  unnecessary  for  defence,  and  therefore  a   standin^^ 
menace  of  aggression,  inspires  a  distrust  in  other  nations,  whick^v 
makes  it  vain  to  talk  of  ^  concert'  where  confidence  is  wanting    ^ 
and  while  the  evil  feeds  itself  and  wastes  the  social  sjrstem  witt-* 
every  new  expedition  and  annexation  ;  her  protectionist  systcic^ 
severs    the    closest  bond  of  union   with   the   rest   of  Europe- --a 
deprives  her  of  the  wealth  which  old  Russia  had  begun  to  reap-^ 
a  thousand   years  ago  from  the  constant  stream  of  commerc^^ 
flowing  between  the  needy  North  and  the  exuberant  East,  aw^^ 
prevents  the  formation  of  that  middle  class  which  has  proved,  iD^* 
the  rest  of  Europe,  at  once  the  instrument  of  material  prospentj 
and  the  centre  of  political  stability,  harmonising  freedom  ant 
order.     Industry  and  the  true  foundations  of  civilisation  havi  ^ 
been  sacrificed  to  a  military  g^atness  which  has  broken  dowit^ 
under  the  first  decisive  test ;  and   there  was  not  wanting  a^ 
ironical  contrast  in  the  erection  by  the  present  government  (f^ 
Russia  of  a  monument  at  Novgorod  to  celebrate  the  millenarf 
festival  of  the  nation  (1862). 

The  statesman  who  chose  for  the  model  of  the  Russia"^ 
autocracy  a  pyramid  in  the  midst  of  a  desert,  failed  to  tak^ 
into  account  the  treacherous  foundation  of  the  solitary  edific^^ 
and  the  teeming  life  scattered  over  the  desert,  though  invisiW^ 
from  the  height  assumed  by  the  politician.     Neither  the  oW 

*  Mr.  Wallace  reckons  the  population  of  all  European  Russia  at  about  HJ^ 
the  Bquare  verst  (the  verit,  liuear,  is  approximately  two-thinls  of  a  mile),  and  tw» 
of  the  most  fertile  and  densely-inhabited  part,  40  to  the  square  verst;  the  aTewg*- 
population  of  Great  Biitain  for  a  similar  area  being  114. 

nobilitVj 


Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia.  477 

obility,  long  since  reduced  to  a  class  of  courtiers  or  living 
lart  upon  their  lands,  nor  the  new  official  nobility  who  have 
Jipsed  them,  have  any  weight  in  the  country  or  influence 
er  public  opinion,  which  can  bring  real  strength  and  support 
tfaie  sovereign  power ;  but  it  is  very  possible  that,  as  chiefs 
the  military  force,  they  may  yet  strike  the  blow  destined  to 
»vert  the  fabric  of  autocracy.  That  fabric  is  in  no  danger — 
present  or  in  any  future  yet  foreseen — from  the  peasantry, 
ose  devotion  to  the  Tsar,  as  the  temporal  and  spiritual  hesid 
'tlie  whole  Russian  race,  is  a  feeling  of  the  most  sacred 
igi;ation ;  though  there  is  a  constant  menace  to  the  world  in 

power  of  the  sovereign  whose  slightest  sign  can  evoke  a 
la^^ical  response  from  eighty  millions  of  men.  '  I  am  not 
irmm  for  the  conscription ' — said  our  peasant-driver  at  the  time 
tlie  Moscow  speech — *  but  it  would  be  a  shame  to  keep  at 
me  when  my  father  is  going  to  war.'  The  great  problem  is,, 
lether  the  social  life,  which  has  survived  among  the  peasantry, 
pplies  the  elements  for  that  reconstruction  of  the  whole  Rus- 
ui  state,  the  necessity  of  which  is  confessed  by  the  reforms 
i^&ady  instituted. 

T*he  materials  which  Mr.  Wallace  has  contributed  towards 
^  solution  of  this  problem  can  only  be  appreciated  by  the 
idy  of  his  work  as  a  whole.  The  reader  will  be  amply  repaid 
'  the  masterly  sketch  of  the  ancient  patriarchal  society  which. 
•*  been  maintained  in  the  village  communes ;  the  story  of  how 
cy  have  been  preserved  from  perishing  beneath  the  deluge  of 
^potism  and  the  crushing  yoke  of  serfdom ;  their  relations, 
"th  under  the  old  and  new  system,  to  the  proprietors,  various 
pes  of  whom,  both  of  the  old  and  new  school,  are  sketched 
ith  graphic  skill ;  the  story  of  the  emancipation  of  the  serfs 
''  the  present  Emperor  in  1861 ;  and  the  consequences  of  that 
^Id  and  generous  act — the  one  good  use  to  which  the  despotic 
^^er  of  the  Tsars  has  been  put — both  for  the  landed  pro- 
"^etors  and  for  the  peasantry  themselves.  How  mingled  are 
^  results  of  good  and  evil,  and  how  serious  a  proportion  is 
^^me  by  the  latter,  is  still  more  fully  set  forth  in  Mr.  MichelFs 
^le  Consular  Reports. 

"These  reports,  however,  have  been  to  a  great  extent  super- 
^ed  by  the  very  strength  of  the  confirmation  added  by 
^cial  authority  to  the  statements  in  them  which  gave  most 
%nce  to  the  Russian  Government  In  consequence  partly  of 
^.  Michell's  Reports,  an  Imperial  Commission  was  appointed 

1872  to  inquire  into  the  condition  of  agriculture  in  Kussia ; 
^^  the  Report  which  it  presented  in  1873  gave  the  following 

picture 


478  Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia. 

picture  of  the  industrial,  moral,  and  religious  condition  of  the 
peasantry : — 

^  All  the  information  and  evidence  obtained  by  the  OonmuBsioii  pointB 
to  a  considerable  deyelopment  in  the  obseryance  by  the  peasantry  of 
holidays  which  are  not  established  by  the  Ohnrch,  and  which  redooe^ 
to  the  prejudice  of  the  productiveness  of  the  country  and  the  moral 
interests  of  the  people,  the  sum-total  of  working  days  availabb  £oP 
agriculture.  It  is  supposed  that  the  clergy  not  only  fail  to  hinder  icb 
increase  in  the  number  of  holidays,  but  tiiat  they  even  promote  iha^^ 
increase.  In  addition  to  the  waste  of  time  that  would  othenrin 
available  for  labour,  those  holidays  are  accompanied  by  another  eril 
namely,  by  an  augmentation  of  the  frequency  of  cases  in  which 
use  of  alcoholic  drinks  is  abused.  As  regards  the  statements  made 
the  Commission  on  the  subject  of  the  development  of  a  baneful  paasii 
for  drink  among  the  agricultural  classes,  and  with  respect  to 
injurious  influence  of  idleness  and  drunkenness  on  peasant  life 
generally  on  the  peasant  economy,  the  Commission  most  first  of 
direct  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  complaints  on  the  subject 
drunkenness  refer  principally  to  the  provinces  of  Great  Bossia, 
siderably  less  to  those  of  Little  Bussia,  and  scarcely  at  all  to 
western  and  Baltic  provinces.  In  the  provinces  of  Oreat 
drunkenness  prevails  not  only  in  an  individual  but  also  in  a  pnblii^  s 
form.  The  incentive  to  such  dnmkenness  is  to  be  found  not  odI] 
in  the  numerous  fS&mily  and  church  holidays,  but  also  in  the 
of  rural  self-government.  Few  village  (communal)  meetings 
nate  without  scenes  of  drunkenness.  Business  is  settled  at  th 
meetings  under  the  influence  of  treating  with  vodka  (com  brandy^  ^ 
Fines  are  imposed  in  the  form  of  vodka.  Such  facts,  even  if  desnltor^^ 
in  their  occurrence,  prove  that  the  passion  for  drink  has  taken  d< 
root  in  the  national  character,  and  that  the  people  look  upon  drunkfiS^ 
ness  from  a  peculiar  point  of  view,  without  in  the  least  recoj 
its  moral  indecency.* 

This  account  is  confirmed  by  an  overwhelming  mass  of  evi- 
dence from  various  provinces  of  European  Russia,  testifying 
the  increase  of  immorality,  drunkenness,  and  dishonesty  amo^ 
the  peasants,  the  degraded  and  despised  condition  of  the  clerf  ^ 
the  general  want    of   education,    and   the    little    improveme^ 
as   yet  made  through  the    better   schools   established    by   tt^ 
ZemstvOy  or  local  administrative  boards.     We  can  afford 
only  for  a  few  samples  of  this  mass  of  evidence.     In  one  di^ 
trict  of  Moscow  it  is  reported  that  *  the  people   have   giver  ^ 
themselves  up  entirely  to  drink,  and  are  morally  corrupted, 
that  no  confidence  can  be  placed  in  them.     There  is  no  respect 
for  the  rights  of  property ;    robbery  is  daily  on  the  increase 
horse-stealing  has  assumed  frightful  proportions.'     The  so 
of  this  demoralisation  are  sought  in  the  decline  of  religion  an 

th 


Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia.  479 

the  increase  of  drunkenness;  and  the  laziness  encouraged  by 
the  holidays  of  the  Greek  Church,  which  absorb  more  than 
one-third  of  the  whole  year. 

Thus  in  Moscow,  *•  the  churches  are  empty,  the  drinking-shops 
are  full ;'  in  another  province  '  holidays  and  drunkenness  have 
caused  a  decline  in  morality.  Robbery  is  so  developed  that  a 
wife  robs  her  husband,  the  children  their  parents,  and  the  stolen 
goods  are  carried  to  the  dram-shop.  .  .  .  The  peasants  have 
become  poorer,  owing  to  excessive  drunkenness.  The  popu- 
lation may  be  divided  into  those  who  sell  drink  and  those  who 
consume  it.  Entire  anarchy  reigns.  Everything  is  done  for 
▼odka  and  by  vodka.' 

There  is  special  interest  in  the  evidence  of  Mr.  Aksakoff, 
who  has  attracted  so  much  attention  lately  as  a  chief  organ  of 
the  Slavophils : — 

*  A  decline  in  morality  and  a  falling  off  in  the  performauce  of 
religious  duties  are  very  apparent  among  the  peasantry.  The  prin- 
<^pal  causes  are  first,  the  very  small  moral  influence  which  the  clergy 
exercise  over  the  rural  population,  owing  both  to  their  material 
dependence  upon  the  peasantry,  and  also  very  frequently  to  an  insuf- 
ficient appreciation  of  their  own  dignity  and  of  the  sacredness  of  their 
<)ffioe ;  secondly,  the  absence  of  schools,  and  consequently  the  absence 
o^  all  civil  and  religious  instruction ;  thirdly,  the  absence  of  the  influ- 
^i^ce  of  the  church  and  the  school,  and  its  replacement  by  the  influence 
^  the  dram-shop.  Drunkenness  is  immeasurably  on  the  increase,  and 
u  destroying  the  Bussian  people,  physically  and  morally.' 

If  we  ask  what  is  done  to  counteract  these  evils  by  local 
^'ithorities  and  the  influence  of  clergy,  we  have  such  answers  as 
^©  following.    In  the  provinces  of  Voronej  and  Tambov — 

^^^Fhe  village  mayors  are  entirely  in  the  hands  of  the  populace, 
yf^oL  has  no  confidence  in  them.  The  mayor  stands  uncoveied  before 
^^  ^village  assembly,  and  is  sometimes  forced  to  retire  to  a  dramnshop 
*^S^ther  with  the  rest  of  the  villagers.  As  a  police-officer,  the  mayor 
^  ct  village  is  only  the  instigator  or  the  agent  through  whom  all 
P^Uoe  rogations  are  systematically  evaded.  Such  a  state  of  things 
Y^y  be  called  an  entire  absence  of  government.  It  keeps  the  peasant^ 
^  ^beir  present  path  of  ^  self-will "  (lawlessness),  leads  to  the  absence 
^  ^Jl  public  order  and  decorum,  to  depravity,  robbery,  drunken- 
^f^^  &c.  Moral  dissolution,  utter  impoverishment  and  bankruptcy 
^^  ^^e  turpayer — ^these  are  the  final  results  of  the  present  state  of 
^*i*iu  The  rights  of  property  were  never  very  stricUy  observed  by 
^^  X^easantry,  and  it  is  the  same  now.  Crimes  against  those  rights 
^  ^ot  only  daily  but  hourly  on  the  increase.  Their  number  cannot 
^  ^^timated  from  the  cases  that  are  tried,  because  an  immense  pro- 
^P'^on  of  crimes  go  unpunished,  owing  to  the  difficulties  that  surround 
^*^  obtaining  of  l^al  evidence.' 

In 


480  Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia. 

In  the  province  of  Moscow  the  commune  is  described  as 
*  a  great  despot,  which  prevents  the  peasant  from  working  wheir 
a  popular  saint,  or  an  image  of  St.  Nicholas,  the  mirade- 
worker,  is  expected  in  the  village.'  The  religion  of  Ae 
Russian  peasantry  is  proverbial ;  but  Mr.  Wallace's  caution  u 
to  its  character  is  confirmed  by  the  report  from  Vladimir : — 

*  It  is  known  that  the  lower  classes  only  observe  the  outward  toil 
of  religion.  After  listening  to  the  liturgy  they  entirely  forget  vint 
they  have  heard  in  church.  In  this  respect,  it  is  important  to  obsene 
that  the  Servants  of  the  Church  confine  themselves  to  the  porformanoe 
of  religious  rites,  and,  not  rising  above  the  people  in  intellectaal 
development,  they  give  way  to  exactly  the  same  acts  which  form  v 
painful  a  feature  in  peasant  life ;  so  that  the  rural  population,  with 
no  example  to  guide  them  in  the  path  of  morality,  are  not  able  to 
withstand  temptation.  A  reduction  in  the  number  of  dram-shops  anl 
a  strict  supervision  over  those  whose  duty  it  is  to  propagate  moralitj 
appear  to  be  indispensable  measures.' 

The  effect  of  holidays   is  described  in  the   evidence  iioim 
Novgorod : — 

'  Holidays,'  said  the  witness,  '  are  increasing  beyond  measure;  an^r 
circumstance  that  may  have  had  a  beneficial  effect  in  one  commune  u 
a  holiday  for  all ;  the  peasants  go  to  the  church,  ask  the  priest 
perform  mass,  take  up  the  church  banners,  go  to  a  neighbonrin^S 
village,  where  they  remain  roystering  and  giving  way  to  debauofaerf^ 
and  ending  each  day  in  obliviousness  and  indecency.     Sometimes,  ii^ 
consequence  of  such  holidays,  the  peasants  leave  their  new-out  ha^^ 
for  a  week,  allow  the  most  f&vourable  time  for  stacking  it  to  psss^ 
and  the  result  is  that  when  autumn  comes  they  have  no  food  for  their 
cattle;  whereas  if  they  had  properly  attended  to  their  hay  thej" 
would  have  had  abundance  of  fodder.     These  holidays  are  the  rain 
of  villages ;  the  peasants  throw  themselves  in  masses  into  a  villago^ 
and  eat  up  everything  tbey  find,  and  the  villages  thus  visited  pro- 
ceed in  their  turn  to  a  neighbouring  commune  and  also  consoine 
everything.' 

From  Tchernigov,  one  of  the  oldest  seats  of  Christianity  in 
Russia,  we  have  the  following  exhaustive  account  of  the  conditio!^ 
of  the  clergy,  and  the  slight  esteem  in  which  they  are  held  :-^ 

'A  great  indifference  of  the  peasantry  towards  the   Church  i^ 
observable.     The  archbishop  appealed  personally  for  the  formation^ 
of  a  Church  fund,  but  the  peasants  refused  to  contribute,  and  sai^ 
they  were  quite  agreeable  to  their  church  being  dosed.     Harin^ 
inquired  into  this  subject  in  several  localities,  I  have  arrived  at  th<^ 
conviction  that  an  indifference  towards  religion  exists  among  tk^^ 
peasantry  to  such  an  extent  that  it  is  extremely  desirable  that  atten,^ 
tion  should  be  bestowed  upon  it,  for  in  the  absence  of  religian  a 
mentally  undeveloped  can  scarcely  bo  a  trustworthy  citixen.    HoW' 

eYer, 


Mr.  Wallace'*  Russia.  481 

%  I  do  not  say  this  as  a  reproach  to  the  peasantry,  who  are  now 
aloping  themselves  in  a  ciyil  respect.  I  have  only  stated  a  fact 
m  from  real  life,  and  have  made  a  direct  deduction  from  it.  As 
lids  the  influence  of  the  clergy  over  the  people,  the  former  are 
ainly  interested  in  counteracting  such  an  indifference  towards  the 
LToh ;  but  the  strength  of  the  clergy  is  unequal  to  the  task.  They 
their  material  welfare  to  the  peasantry,  receiving  from  them  pay- 
it  for  every  rite  which  they  perform.  Although  the  parishioners 
allowed  to  elect  their  own  priests,  yet  the  conditions  laid  down 
I  that  object  are  somewhat  onerous  for  a  rural  commune ;  namely, 
salary  of  a  priest  is  fixed  at  a  very  considerable  figure  in  relation 
he  means  of  the  greater  number  of  the  rural  communes,  and  over 
above  this  an  obligatory  rate  of  payment  is  fixed  for  the  per- 
oanoe  of  certain  rites  which  the  peasantry  do  not  wish  to  have 
ibmted,  such  as  prayers  before  fasts,  &o,  I  was  an  eye-witness 
n  a  certain  large  commune  was  invited  to  elect  a  priest.  The 
Bants  said  outright  that,  as  they  had  been  granted  the  right  of 
dng  such  an  election,  they  should  also  have  the  right  of  making 
agreement  with  the  priest  in  respect  to  his  salary ;  but  that  ''  if 
law  required  the  commune  to  pass  a  resolution  electing  the  priest 
1  binding  the  commune  to  pay  for  the  performance  of  rites  which 
do  not  require,  we  are  in  a  difficulty  as  to  such  election." ' 

U  to  the  state  of  education,  there  is  sad  testimony  to  the 
ifference  of  the  clergy ;  and  the  improved  schools  of  the 
Qstvo  have  a  hard  struggle  with  the  apathy  of  the  peasants. 
18  at  Minsk  ^  the  schools  have  no  influence  whatever  on  the 
Illation.  The  young  men  who  are  sent  to  teach  reading  and 
ing  are  mostly  unmarried  and  of  frail  morality.     In  winter 

have  a  few  boys  to  instruct,  but  in  summer  they  do  nothing 
debauch,  and  thus  demoralise  the  people  by  deed  and  by 
uple.     The  teachers  belong  principally  to  the  priesthood; 

are  at  a  low  level  of  civilisation  and  education,  without 
lies ;  and  as  their  lives  would  otherwise  be  dull,  they  give 

to  drunkenness  and  dissipation.'  At  Smolensk  Hhe 
ols  are  in  a  melancholy  condition.  The  rural  clergy,  who 
lot  distinguished  for  their  knowledge  of  reading  and  writing, 
Qieir  culture  or  their  morality,  are  bad  instructors.  The 
iants,  therefore,  engage  old  soldiers,  who  teach  for  the  sake 
piece  of  bread.'  At  Kazan,  ^  there  are  many  schools.  The 
Kshial  schools  conducted  by  the  clergy  are  very  bad ;  those 
he  Zemstvo  are  good.'  At  Grodno,  '  the  schools  are  not 
^  well  frequented,  although  numerous  (forty).  The  peasants 
averse  from  sending  their  children  to  school,  for  fear  of  their 
ling  to  become  writers  or  gentry.  Unless  under  compulsion, 
Iren  are  not  sent  to  school,  so  that  the  latter  are  occupied 

by  teachers  in  receipt  of  salaries.'  At  St.  Petersburg, 
ol.  1^.— No.  286.  2  I  '  although 


482  Mr.  Wallace'^?  Russia. 

*  although  the  Zemstvo  and  the  Government  assist  in  the  esta- 
blishment of  schools,  jet  the  influence  of  the  latter  is  still  very 
slight.  There  are  no  good  teachers,  only  drunken  students  bom 
ecclesiastical  seminaries.'  At  Tchemigov,  ^  the  schools  hare 
hitherto  not  been  used  bj  the  peasantry,  but  since  the  last  two 
or  three  years  there  has  been  a  strong  desire  to  acquire  know- 
ledge. This  is  probably  owing  to  the  expected  reform  of  the 
law  of  military  conscription,  rumours  of  which  ^re  propagated  bj 
old  soldiers.     Drunkenness,  however,  has  begun  to  increase.' 

The  experiment  of  emancipation  is  hampered  by  hindrances 
arising  from  the  character  of  all  the  parties  whose  co-operatioD 
is  needed  for  its  good  working.  The  good-natured,  but 
stolid  and  lazy  peasant,  is  only  willing  to  work  so  much  as 
is  absolutely  needful  to  supply  the  few  wants  of  his  hard  and 
frugal  life,  and  to  pay  his  taxes.  The  proprietor,  disgusted  and 
exasperated  at  the  indolence  from  which  he  suffers,  is  offended 
at  the  air  of  churlish  independence,  always  natural  to  the- 
Russian  peasant,  and  now  aggravated  by  the  new  pride  of 
freedom.  The  result  has  been  a  wider  division  of  classes,  than 
even  under  that  servitude  which  at  least  defined  their  social 
relations  plainly,  and  often  bore  the  redeeming  fruit  of  kindlj 
condescension  in  the  master,  and  devoted  attachment  in  the  sed 
This  social  severance  makes  it  almost  impossible  for  the  proprietor 
and  the  emancipated  peasant  to  meet  on  any  common  gronnd, 
at  the  very  time  when  their  co-operation  is  most  needed  to  make 
their  new  relations  the  foundation  of  a  better  social  order.  The 
faults  of  both  parties  may  be  illustrated  by  a  conversation  which 
we  lately  heard  in  a  Russian  railway  carriage  between  a  pro- 
prietor and  an  English  resident.  '  These  mxyiks ' — said  the 
Russian — *  were  invented  to  be  our  curse  ! '  *  Perhaps,'  re- 
joined the  Englishman,  who  knows  them  well,  *  they  think  yon 
born  to  be  their  prey.'  There  is  a  widespread  feeling  among^ 
the  peasantry  that  the  work  of  emancipation  is  but  h^  done; 
to  restore  them  to  their  natural  right  of  personal  liberty  is  but  a 
partial  boon,  without  the  land  which  they  claim  as  hariof 
belonged  to  them  from  the  time  when  Russia  was  Russia. 

It  remains  to  be  seen  how  this  divergence  and  antagonism 
can  be  overcome,  or  rather  what  natural  forces  will  come  into 
play  to  correct  it.  All  that  the  Government  has  hitherto 
attempted,  by  the  establishment  of  provincial  and  distnct 
boards — though  restoring  the  model  of  a  free  local  government 
in  which  proprietors  and  peasants  are  equally  represented,  and 
by  which  good  local  work  is  done — has  nevertheless  failed  ^ 
create  between   the  two  classes  any  real  community  of  feeling. 

The  proprietor  looks  on  the  peasant  as  an  instrument  necessary 

for 


Mr.  Wallace'^  Russia.  483 

for  obtaining  any  profit  from  bis  land :  tbe  peasant  regards  tbe 
proprietor  as  a  reserve  wbence  be  may  bire  land  or  draw  wages 
as  necessity  may  force  bim  :  but  beyond  tbis  excbange  of  neces- 
sary uses,  tbere  is  a  mutual  antipatby  in  all  tbeir  ideas,  personal, 
social,  and  religious — for  tbe  modem  proprietor,  besides  being 
an  aristocrat  in  bis  feelings  and  a  gentleman  in  bis  babits,  is 
wont  to  scorn  tbe  devotion  of  tbe  Russian  peasant. 

Tbe  barmonising  influence  of  religion,  so  powerful  in  otber 
lands,  is  bere  a  force  failing  wben  most  needed.  Tbe  parisb 
clergy,  depending  on  tbe  peasants  for  nearly  all  tbeir  subsistence, 
and  scarcely  above  tbem  in  social  rank,  babits,  and  opinions, 
have  lost  all  respect  and  consideration.  For  furtber  evidence 
on  this  large  topic  we  must  be  content  to  refer  to  Mr.  Wallace's 
discussion  of  tbe  position  of  tbe  clergy,  but  not  witbout 
guarding  our  readers  against  tbe  exaggerated  influence  wbicb 
he  ascribes  to  tbe  tyranny  of  tbe  superior  ecclesiastics,  who 
are  'of  tbe  ^  Black  Clergy,'  or  monastic  orders.  At  all  events 
some  strong  ecclesiastical  discipline  seems  necessary  to  control 
the  propensities  of  tbe  common  clergy.  We  bave  ourselves  been 
obliged  to  lock  up  in  bis  own  cellar  a  parisb  priest  so  drunk 
at  his  own  daughter's  marriage  as  to  be  a  scandal  even  to  a 
Russian  village ;  and  a  friend  of  ours  has  seen  a  drunken  priest 
belabouring  his  whole  congregation  with  tbe  branch  be  bad  just 
dipped  in  holy  water  to  asperse  tbem.  There  is  at  present  then 
little  hope  for  the  reunion  of  classes  from  tbe  Government  or  tbe 
clergy. 

One  of  tbe  few  certainties  in  tbe  immediate  future  is  tbe 
extinction  of  tbe  present  class  of  proprietors,  who  are  still 
imbued  with  the  traditions  of  serfdom.  Tbis  is  being  rapidly 
effected  by  the  improvident  babits  wbicb  such  a  system  always 
engenders,  and  accelerated  by  tbe  reckless  action  of  tbe  Govern- 
ment in  the  institution  of  Land  Banks  all  over  tbe  country, 
which  have  offered  tbe  proprietors  fatal  facilities  for  incurring 
hopeless  embarrassment.  As  in  otber  countries,  these  means 
of  ruin  have  been  furnished  by  English  capital.  Into  what 
hands  the  land  thus  encumbered  will  ultimately  pass,  is  one  of 
the  problems  of  the  future.  At  all  events,  as  tbe  combined 
result  of  emancipation  and  tbe  survival  of  tbe  village  com- 
munal life,  Russia  seems  to  be  working  back  towards  her  old 
social  relations  before  tbe  Tartar  conquest,  though  as  yet  witb- 
out the  visible  prospect  of  recovering  her  old  political  liberties ; 
and  till  the  latter  is  effected,  tbe  former  can  hardly  be  accom- 
plished. In  tbis  critical  position  it  would  seem  to  a  looker-on 
firom  the  outside  that  peace  was  her  first  need ;  but  those  who  see 
more  closely  find  a  widespread  feeling  that  the  only  hope  of 

2    I    2  \st^^l!^TL^ 


484  Harriet  Martineau^s  Autobiography, 

breaking  the  fetters  of  her  despotism  is  by  war :  not  a  war  ^ 
conquest,  which  should  annex  new  provinces  and  cany  b' 
banners  to  Constantinople,  but  rather  a  war  of  humiliation,  la^ 
as  that  which  caused  the  military  system  of  Nicholas  to  collap^-^ 
and  prepared  the  way,  by  revealing  the  indispensable  necessit^^J^' 
for  the  reforms  of  Alexander. 


Abt.  VII. — Harriet  Martineav!s  Awtohiograpky.  WithMemoria^   — ^ 
by  Maria  Weston  Chapman.     In  Three  Volumes.     Londoz 

1877. 

IT  was  told  of  a  distinguished  gentleman  of  the  last  generatio 
that,  on  leaving  the  University,  he  was  thus  addressed  b^^^^J 

the  Head  of  his  College  :  'Mr. ,  the  tutors  think  highly <c=:^^ 

you:  your  fellow-students  think  highly  of  you:  I  think  highly -»^J 
of  you,  but  nobody  thinks  so  highly  of  you  as  you  think  ct— ^®' 
yourself.'  Miss  Martineau  might  have  been  somewhat  similarly -^*J 
addressed  in  the  first  flush  of  her  celebrity.  She  had  achieved  ;•  - ' 
decided  and  well-merited  success :  she  was  cordially  welcomes  "^"^ 
by  the  4lite  of  the  cultivated  class :  her  acquaintance  wa-^^^ 
eagerly  sought  by  many  persons  of  eminence :  the  reading  ^*i 
public  thought  highly,  her  personal  friends  very  highly,  of  her 
but  her  elated  estimate  of  her  position  and  budding  honoursi 
recorded  in  her  Autobiography,  will  be  read  by  the  most 
of  her  contemporaries  with  a  mixture  of  wonder  and  regret  I*' 
recalls  the  story  of  the  Senior  Wrangler  fresh  from  the 
House,  who,  entering  a  theatre  at  the  same  time  with  royalty^ 
fancied  that  the  audience  were  standing  up  to  do  him  honoar.— - 
She  writes  as  if  the  appearance  of  her  illustrative  Tales  had  formed^ 
an  epoch  in  history  :  as  if  the  greatest  discoveries  of  the  age  hatL- 
been  that  the  didactic  method  of  inculcating  knowledge  war 
altogether  a  mistake:  that  political  economy  in  particular  coold 
be  only  efficiently  taught  through  the  medium  of  fiction,  and 
that  the  appropriate  sort  of  fiction  could  only  be  supplied  bj 
the  discoverer.  She  plainly  gives  us  to  believe,  if  she  does  not 
say  it  in  so  many  words,  that,  like  Byron  on  the  publication  of 
'  Childc  Harold,'  she  awoke  one  fine  morning  and  found  herself 
famous :  that  she  became  at  once  the  observed  of  all  observers, 
the  glass  of  fashion,  if  not  exactly  the  mould  of  form  :  that  the 
republic  of  letters  received  her  with  acclamation :  that  the 
political  world  was  stirred  and  agitated  to  its  inmost  depths  by 
her  advent,  like  the  pool  of  Bcthesda  when  the  healing  infloenoe 
came  down. 

'  If  all  this,'  said  Johnson,  speaking  of  Garrick's  triumphs, '  bad 

happened 


Harriet  Martineau's  Auiohiography.  485 

)ened  to  me,  I  should  have  had  a  couple  of  fellows  with  long 
s  walking  before  me,  to  knock  down  everybody  that  stood  in 
vaj.'  Miss  M artineau  must  have  needed  some  escort  of  the 
.  She  tells  us  that  she  could  neither  stay  at  home  nor  stir 
ad  without  being  besieged  or  mobbed  by  lion-hunters,  way- 
by  publishers,  worried  by  legislators,  or  persecuted  by 
mthropists.  A  great  noble,  the  Maecenas  of  the  period, 
m  she  deliberately  snubbed,  is  punished  for  what  she  deems 
lU-bred  persistency  in  intruding  on  her,  by  having  an  en- 
ag  mark  of  reproach  set  against  his  name.  At  an  evening 
y  she  had  no  alternative  but  to  ensconce  herself  behind  a 
ng-door,  where  she  could  only  be  approached  in  single  file 
tatesmen  and  philosophers  competing  for  a  turn  at  her  ear- 
ipet 

diere  is  my  throne ;  let  kings  come  bow  to  it,'  exclaims  Lady 
stance,  as  she  throws  herself  on  the  ground.  ^  Here  is  my 
le,'  was  the  secret  thought  if  not  the  exclamation  of  Miss 
dneau  when  she  settled  in  Fludyer  Street,  and  received  (she 
s)  the  homage  of  three  crowned  heads  in  the  shape  of 
iing  requests,  or  unlimited  orders,  for  her  works. 
be  mock  triumph  proposed  by  Peter  Plymley  for  Canning 
that  he  should  ride  up  and  down  Pall  Mall,  glorious  upon 
lite  horse,  and  that  they  cry  out  before  him,  ^  Thus  shall  it 
lone  to  the  statesman  who  hath  written  The  Needy  Knife- 
ler  and  the  German  Play.'  There  were  moods  in  which 
;  Martineau  would  have  seen  no  mockery  in  the  suggestion 
she  should  be  led  in  triumph,  and  that  they  cry  out  before 
^  Thus  shall  it  be  done  to  the  authoress  who  has  written 
or-laws  and  Paupers  Illustrated,"  and  ^^  Illustrations  of 
tical  Economy," ' 

his  exalted  mood,  although  it  sobered  down  before  she  died, 
lanently  coloured  her  impressions  of  men,  manners  and 
es  of  thought ;  and  it  must  be  kept  steadily  in  mind  in 
hing  her  opinions  of  her  contemporaries  or  her  reflections 
Ksiety.  But  we  are  far  from  blaming  the  sense  of  importance 
;h  led  her  to  feel,  as  she  felt  from  youth  upwards,  that  it 
one  of  the  duties  of  her  life  to  write  her  biography.  In  the 
)duction,  dated  Ambleside,  March  1855,  she  says : — 

Vhen  my  life  became  evidently  a  somewhat  remarkable  one,  the 
lation  presented  itself  more  strongly  to  my  conscience :  and  when 
de  up  my  mind  to  interdict  the  publication  of  my  private  letters, 
luty  became  unquestionable.  For  thirteen  or  fourteen  years  it 
»een  more  or  less  a  weight  on  my  mind  that  the  thing  was  not 
Twice  in  my  life  I  made  a  beginning:  once  in  1831,  and 
I  about  ten  years  later,  during  my  long  illness  at  Tynemouth : 

but 


486  Harriet  Jdartineau^s  Autobiography. 

but  both  attempts  stopped  short  at  an  early  period,  aDSweringno 
other  purpose  than  preserving  some  fiftcts  of  my  childhood  which  1 
might  otherwise  haye  forgotten.' 

Later  on,  she  repeatedly  told  her  most  intimate  friends  that  she 
could  not  die  in  peace  till  this  work  was  done ;  and  on  New 
Year's  Day,  1855,  she  said  to  herself  that  the  year  must  not 
close  without  her  having  recorded  the  story  of  her  life. 

<  Two  or  three  weeks  more  settled  the  business.  Feeling  tcij 
unwell,  I  went  to  London  to  obtain  a  medical  opinion  in  re^ird  to 
my  health.  Two  able  physicians  informed  me  that  I  had  a  mortil 
disease,  which  might  spare  me  some  considerable  space  of  life,  but 
which  might,  as  likely  as  not,  destroy  me  at  any  moment.  No  doaU 
could  remain  after  this  as  to  what  my  next  employment  should  be: 
and  as  soon  after  my  return  home  as  I  had  settled  my  bnsineflB 
with  my  executor,  I  began  this  Autobiography.' 

She  finished  it  so  far  as  it  goes  within  the  year  ;  then  printed  it 
ofT,  and  kept  it  by  her  without  alteration  or  addition  till  her 
death.     The  publishers'  advertisement  runs  thus : — 

'  The  first  two  volumes  of  this  edition  of  Miss  Martineau's  Auto- 
biography were  printed  by  her  twenty  years  ago,  and  are  issued  as 
printed,  in  accordance  with  her  express  instructions.' 

The  first  two  volumes  of  the  publication  contain  the  whole  of 
the  Autobiography  :  there  is  no  other  edition  that  we  know  ot 
The  third  volume  is  exclusively  occupied  by  Mrs.  Chapman  $ 
Memorials. 

Miss  Martineau  begins  with  her  infancy ;  but  believers  in 
blood  and  race  will  attach  more  weight  than  she  seemingly 
attaches  to  the  concluding  paragraph  of  her  Introduction  :— 

*  I  have  only  to  say  further,  in  the  way  of  introduction,  a  word  or 
two  as  to  my  descent  and  parentage.  On  occasion  of  the  Bevocation 
of  the  Edict  of  Nantes,  in  1688,  a  surgeon  of  the  name  of  Martineau, 
and  a  fanuly  of  the  name  of  Pierre,  crossed  the  Channel,  and  settled, 
with  other  Huguenot  refugees,  in  England.  My  ancestor  married  » 
young  lady  of  the  Pierre  family,  and  settled  in  Norwich,  where  bis 
descendants  afforded  a  succession  of  surgeons  up  to  my  own  day.  Uy 
eminent  uncle,  Mr.  Philip  Meadows  Martineau,  and  my  eldest  lurotber, 
who  died  before  the  age  of  thirty,  were  the  last  Norwich  surgeons  of 
the  name.  My  grandfather,  who  was  one  of  the  honourable  series, 
died  at  the  age  of  forty-two,  of  a  fever  caught  among  his  poor  patients. 
He  left  a  large  family,  of  whom  my  father  was  the  youngest.  Wh^ 
established  as  a  Norwich  manufacturer,  my  father  married  Elizabeth 
Rankin,  the  eldest  daughter  of  a  sugar-refiner  at  Newcastle-npon* 
Tyne.  My  father  and  mother  had  eight  children,  of  whom  I  was^^ 
sixth :  and  I  was  bom  on  the  12th  of  June,  1802.' 

Her 


Harriet  Martineau's  Autobiography.  487 

Her  infantine  impressions,  after  being  long  in  abeyance,  were 
"eyived  in  an  inexplicable  way. — ^as  by  a  flash  of  lightning  over 
k  far  horizon  in  the  night.'  Her  recollection  goes  back  to  feel- 
ngs  excited  by  events  which  must  have  happened  when  she 
ras  not  more  than  eighteen  months  old.  She  was  almost 
tarved  to  death  in  the  first  weeks  of  her  life  by  a  wet-nurse, 
vho,  to  keep  her  place,  concealed  the  failure  of  her  milk.  ^  My 
>ad  health  during  my  whole  childhood  and  youth,  and  even 
VLj  deafness,  was  always  ascribed  by  my  mother  to  this.'  Her 
lervous  system  was  terribly  shattered  ;  and  she  suffered  agonies 
rom  the  commonest  sights  and  sounds.  ^  The  starlight  sky  was 
he  worst ;  it  was  always  coming  down,  to  stifle  and  crush  me, 
nd  rest  upon  my  head.'  She  had  no  dread  of  thieves  or  ghosts, 
lut  the  beating  of  feather-beds  at  a  distance,  the  dull  shock,  with 
he  want  of  correspondence  between  the  striking  of  the  blow 
ind  the  arrival  of  the  sound,  made  her  heart  stand  still.  Her 
offerings  and  peculiarities  passed  unnoticed  by  her  parents, 
ind  she  thinks  that  ^  a  little  more  of  the  cheerful  tenderness 
v^hich  was  then  thought  bad  for  children  would  have  saved  her 
rom  her  worst  faults  and  a  world  of  suffering.'  Her  hostess 
ind  nurse  at  the  cottage  where  she  was  sent  for  change  of  air, 
wns  a  Methodist  or  ^  melancholy  Calvinist  of  some  sort.' 

'  The  flBunily  sioiy  about  me  was  that  I  came  home  the  absordest 
itUe  preacher  of  my  years  (between  two  and  three)  that  ever  was.  I 
ised  to  nod  my  head  emphatically,  and  say,  '^  Never  ky  for  tyfles : " 
*  Dooty  fust,  and  pleasure  afterwards,"  and  so  forth :  and  I  sometimes 
^t  courage  to  edge  up  to  strangers,  and  ask  them  to  give  me — ''  a 
naxim."  Almost  before  I  could  join  letters,  I  got  some  sheets  of 
paper,  and  folded  them  into  a  little  square  book,  and  wrote,  in  double 
lines,  two  or  three  in  a  page,  my  beloved  maxims.  I  believe  this  was 
(ny  first  effort  at  book-malang.  It  was  probably  what  I  picked  up  at 
Oarleton  that  made  me  so  intensely  religious  as  I  certainly  was  from 
\  yeiy  early  age.  The  religion  was  of  a  bad  sort  enough,  as  might 
be  expected  from  the-  urgency  of  my  needs ;  but  I  doubt  whether  I 
xnild  have  got  through  without  it.'  , 

[t  certainly  was  not  of  the  best  sort,  although  quite  as  good  as 
pvhat  she  eventually  adopted  in  the  place  of  it. 

*  While  I  was  a&aid  of  everybody  I  saw,  I  was  not  in  the  least 
ftfraid  of  God.  Being  usually  very  uuhappy,  I  was  constantly  longing 
for  heaven,  and  seriously  and  very  frequently  planning  suicide  in 
order  to  get  there.  I  was  sure  that  suicide  would  not  stand  in  the 
way  of  my  getting  there.  I  knew  it  was  considered  a  crime ;  but  I 
did  not  feel  it  so.  I  had  a  devouring  passion  for  justice ;  justice, 
first  to  my  own  precious  self,  and  then  to  other  oppressed  people. 
Justice  was  precisely  what  was  least  understood  in  our  house,  in 
xegard  to  servants  and  children.' 

She 


488  Harriet  MartineatCs  Autobiography. 

She  describes  her  temper  at  this  early  age  (five)  as  ^  downrig^^ 
devilish.'      She  declares  she  had  no  self-respect — the  quali^ 
for  which  she  was  pre-eminent  in  after-life — and  that  her  capac^^ 
for  jealousy  was  something  frightful.     Her  notions  of  the 
lating  medium,  also,  give  small  promise  of  the  future  writer 
currency. 

'  I  suspect  I  have  had  a  narrow  escape  of  being  an  eminent 
....  The  very  sight  of  silver  and  copper  was  transporting  to  ism^-  ^ 
without  any  thought  of  its  use.     I  stood  and  looked  long  at  moner, 
as  it  lay  in  my  hand.' 

Mr.  Bright  is  well  known  to  have  been  from  youth  upi 
an  unremitting  reader  of  Milton,  who  is  to  him  what  Homer 
Dante  are  to  Mr.  Gladstone.     Macaulay  knew  ^  Paradise  Lost 
by  heart  ;*  but  Miss  Martineau's  devotion  to  the  sublime  poet' 
masterpiece  is,  we  believe,  without  a  parallel  in  a  child. 

'  When  I  was  seven  years  old, — the  winter  after  our  retain 
Newcastle, — I  was  kept  from  chapel  one  Sunday  afternoon  hj 
ailment  or  other.    When  the  house-door  closed  behind  the 
goers,  I  looked  at  the  books  on  the  table.    The  ugliest-lookiiig 
them  was  turned  down  open ;  and  my  turning  it  up  was  one  of  th^*  -^ 
leading  incidents  of  my  life.    That  plain,  clumsy,  calf-bound  vbliiin^  ^ 
was  "  Paradise  Lost ; "  and  the  common  bluish  paper,  with  its  oU-- 
flELshioned  type,  became  as  a  scroll  out  of  heaven  to  me.    The  iiir^ 
thing  I  saw  was  '*  Argument,"  which  I  took  to  mean  a  dispute, 
supposed  to  be  stupid  enough :  but  there  was  something  abont 
cleaving  Chaos,  which  made  me  turn  to  the  poetry;  and  my 
destiny  was  fixed  for  the  next  seven  years.     That  volame 
henceforth  never  to  be  found  but  by  asking  me  for  it,  till  a 
acquaintance  made  me  a  present  of  a  little  Milton  of  my  own.    In 
few  months,  I  believe  there  was  hardly  a  line  in  ''Paradise  Lost 
that  I  could  not  have  instantly  turned  to.     I  sent  myself  to  sleep  bj 
repeating  it :  and  when  my  curtains  were  drawn  back  in  the  moniDg^^ 
descriptions  of  heavenly  light  rushed  into  my  memory.' 

From  her  eleventh  to  her  thirteenth  year,  she  attended  a  schooK- 
kept  by  a  Unitarian  minister,  where  she  learnt  Latin  and. 
French  and  obtained  considerable  proficiency  in  English 
Composition,  of  which  her  master  reminded  her  when  »b^ 
became  celebrated  as  a  writer.  At  this  school,  in  her  twelftli 
year,  attention  was  first  attracted  to  her  deafness,  which  grew 
fixed   and   incurable  before    she    was   sixteen.     She  was  bom 

*  One  evening  at  Edinburgh,  JefTrey  betted  a  copy  of  'Paiadise  Lost' wi^ 
Macaulay  as  to  a  line  of  the  poem.  The  next  morning  Maoanlay  called  with  a  hsod- 
somely-bound  copy.  *■  There,'  he  said,  *  is  your  book :  I  have  loit ;  but  I  hA^ 
read  it  through  once  more,  and  I  will  now  make  you  another  bet  that  I  can  lep^ 
tlie  whole.*  Jeffrey  took  him  at  his  word,  and  put  him  on  in  passage  after  puMS^ 
without  finding  him  once  at  fault.    Ex  relatione.  Lord  Jeffrey. 

without 


Harriet  MartineauCs  Aidohiography.  48& 

hout  the  sense  of  smell.  It  would  seem  also  that  her  sight 
(  imperfect,  for  she  gives  as  an  instance  of  ^  that  inability  to 

what  one  is  looking  for/  her  inability  to  see  the  Comet  of 

L 

lYight  after  night,  the  whole  family  of  us  went  up  to  the  long 
dews  at  the  top  of  my  father's  warehouse ;  and  the  exclamations 
ill  hands  about  the  comet  perfectly  exasperated  me, — because  I 
Id  not  see  it !  "  Why,  there  it  is  ! "  "  It  is  as  big  as  a  saucer."^ 
is  as  big  as  a  cheese- plate."  '*  Nonsense ; — ^you  might  as  well 
«nd  not  to  see  ihe  moon."  Such  were  the  mortifying  comments 
my  grudging  admission  that  I  could  not  see  the  comet.  And  I 
3r  did  see  it.  Such  is  the  fact ;  and  philosophers  may  make  of  it 
t  they  may, — remembering  that  I  was  then  nine  years  old,  and 
I  remarkably  good  eyes.' 

a  her  eighteenth  year  we  find  her  translating  Tacitus  and 
:»rch,  and  deep  in  the  study  of  Hartley  and  Priestley,  which 
Ited  in  her  becoming  a  firm  believer  in  their  doctrine  of 
«ssity.  The  theological  opinions  which  she  habitually 
essed  have  been  so  uniformly  condemned  in  this  Journal 

we  are  fortunately  relieved  from  the  necessity  of  comment- 
on  them,  and  we  shall  merely  note  the  phases  of  belief  or 
elief  through  which  she  passed  as  steps  or  stages  of  in- 
actual  progress.  One  of  the  most  important,  as  bearing 
L  on  her  future  career  and  the  constitution  of  her  mind,  was 

scornful  rejection  of  her  inherited  creed,  the  Unitarian, 
qually  unsatisfactory  to  reason  and  to  faith.  This  was  the 
e  marked,  because  in  1830-1831  she  competed  for  and  won 
three  prizes  given  by  the  Unitarian  Association  for  three 
lys  on  Unitarianism,  respectively  addressed  to  Catholics, 
B,  and  Mohammedans,  with  a  view  to  their  conversion. 

rhere  are  the  papers:  and  I  hereby  declare  that  I  considered 
L  my  best  production,  and  expected  they  would  outlive  every- 
l  else  I  had  written  or  should  write.  I  was,  in  truth,  satisfied 
ihey  were  very  fine  writing,  and  believed  it  for  long  after — ^little 
e  that  the  time  could  ever  come  when  I  should  write  them  down,. 
do  now,  to  be  morbid,  fantastical,  and  therefore  unphilosophical 
ontme.  I  cannot  wonder  that  it  did  not  occur  to  the  Unitarians 
ar  as  they  thought  of  me  at  all)  that  I  was  really  not  of  them,  at 
time  that  I  had  picked  up  their  gauntlet,  and  assumed  their 
ipionship.  If  it  did  not  occur  to  me,  no  wonder  it  did  not  to 
•  But  the  clear-sighted  among  them  might  and  should  have 
by  the  evidence  of  those  essays  themselves,  that  I  was  one  of 
I  merely  nominal  Christians  who  refuse  whatever  they  see  to  be 
ssible,  absurd  or  immoral  in  the  scheme  or  the  records  of 
stianity,  and  pick  out  and  appropriate  what  they  like,  or  inter- 
polate 


490  Harriet  MartineatHs  Autobiography. 

polate  it  with  views,  desires,  and  imaginationB  of  their  own.    I  b^ 
iJready  ceased  to  be  an  Unitarian  in  the  technical  sense. 

'  At  length,  I  hope  and  believe  my  old  coreligionists  nndentind 
and  admit  that  I  disclaim  their  theology  in  toto,  and  that  by  oo 
twisting  of  language  or  darkening  of  its  meanings  can  I  be  made  out 
to  have  anything  whatever  in  common  with  tiiem  about  zdigioTis 
matters.  I  perceive  that  they  do  not  at  all  understand  my  views  or 
the  grounds  of  them,  or  the  road  to  them :  but  they  will  not  deny 
that  I  understand  theirs, — chosen  expositor  as  I  was  of  them  in  the 
year  1831 ;  and  they  must  take  my  word  for  it  that  there  is  nothing 
in  common  between  their  theology  and  my  philosophy.' 

We  are  here  anticipating.     Her  first  appearance  in  print  was 
a  letter  to  the  ^  Monthly  Repository/  a  Unitarian  magazine,  in 
1821.     It  was  read  by  her  brother,  not  knowing  it  to  be  hers, 
with  a  warm  expression  of  admiration  in  her  presence.     On  her 
avowing  it,  he  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  and  (calling  her 
*  dear  *  for  the  first  time)  said  :    *  Now,  dear,   leave  it  to  other 
women  to  make  shirts  and  dam  stockings ;  and  do  you  devote 
yourself  to  this.'     Some  years  were  to  elapse  before  she  was  at 
liberty  to  act  upon  this  advice;   and   a   succession   of  small 
successes,  although  clearly  indicative  of  her  powers,  produced 
no  corresponding   change   in   her  prospects   or  position.     In 
1826,  age  24,  occurred   the  most  important  event  in  her,  in 
every   woman's,    life :    an   experience,   without    which  (a»  in 
Macaulay's  case)  a  wide  range  of  passion  and  sentiment  would 
have  been  as  an  unknown  land. 

^  Ich  habe  genossen  das  irdische  Gluck, 
Ich  habe  gelebt  und  geliebet.' 

She  loved,  was  beloved  and  (to  use  her  own  expression)  vir^ 
tually  engaged  ;  when  her  betrothed '  became  suddenly  insane, 
and  after  months  of  illness  of  body  and  mind,  died.*  Although 
the  trial  was  severe,  and  *  the  beauty  of  his  goodness '  remained 
lastingly  impressed  on  her,  she  thinks  that  it  was  happiest  for 
both  that  the  union  was  prevented  by  any  means. 

<  I  am,  in  truth,  very  thankful  for  not  having  married  at  alL   I 

have  never  since  been  tempted,  nor  have  suffered  anything  at  all  in 

relation  to  that  matter  which  is  held  to  be  all-important  to  woman,— 

love  and  marriage.     Nothing,  1  mean,  beyond  occasional  annoyance, 

presently  disposed  of.     Every  literary  woman,  no  doubly  Juu  pleniy  of 

importunity  of  that  sort  to  deal  tcith ;  but  freedom  of  mind  and  coolness 

of  manner  dispose  of  it  very  easily,  and  since  the  time  I  have  been 

speaking  of,  my  mind  has  been  wholly  free  from  all  idea  of  love- 

a£G&irs.' 

We 


Harriet  MartineatCs  Autobiography.  491 

We  were  not  aware  that  literary  ladies  were  so  peculiarly 
posed  to  this  description  of  danger,  although  the  French  have 
-a  maxim  (based  on  such  examples  as  Madame  du  Chatelet) : 
"*  Une  femme  savante  est  toujours  galante.'  At  all  events, 
JVfiss  Martineau  gained  the  invaluable  schooling  of  the  heart. 
To  this  schooling  are  owing  many  fine  touches  in  her  tales : 
iPFithout  it  she  could  hardly  have  written  '  Deerbrook.' 

In  1827,  age  25,  she  wrote  a  short  story,  called  *The  Rioters,' 

and  its  success  was  such  that  some  hosiers  and  lacemakers  of 

Derby  and  Nottingham  sent  her  a  request  to  write  a  tale  on  the 

subject  of  Wages,  which  she  did,  calling  it '  The  Turn  Out.'    This 

led  to  further  dealings  with  the  provincial  publisher ;  for  whom, 

she  says,  she  wrote  a  good  many  tracts  which  he  sold  for  a  penny, 

and  for  which  he  gave  her  a  sovereign  apiece.     It  was  in  the 

autumn  of  1827  that  she  took  up  Mrs.  Marcet's  ^  Conversations 

on  Political  Economy,'  lent  to  her  sister,  to  see  what  Political 

Elconomy  principles  were,  and  great  was  her  surprise  to  find  that 

she  had  been  teaching  them  unawares.    It  struck  her  at  once  that 

the  principles  of  the  whole  science  might  be  conveyed  in  the  same 

way,  and,  as  she  read  on,  the  views  and  design  which  she  after- 

w^ards  developed  and  carried  out  dawned  upon  her : — 

'  Daring  that  reading,  groups  of  personages  rose  up  from  the  pages, 
and  a  procession  of  action  glided  through  its  arguments,  as  afterwards 
from  the  pages  of  Adam  Smith,  and  all  the  other  Economists.  I 
mentioned  my  notion,  I  remember,  when  we  were  sitting  at  work,  one 
bright  afternoon  at  home.  Brother  James  nodded  assent ;  my  mother 
said  '^  Do  it ; "  and  we  went  to  tea,  unconscious  what  a  great  thing  we 
had  done  since  dinner.' 

Although  constantly  cramped  for  want  of  money,  her  family  had 
•discouraged  her  adopting  authorship  as  a  profession  for  fear 
of  compromising  their  gentility,  and  she  was  driven  to  do  her 
writing  upon  the  sly  till  June  1829 ;  when  the  old  Norwich 
firm,  from  which  all  their  income  was  derived,  broke,  and  the 
•question  arose,  what  was  she  to  do,  ^  with  her  deafness  precluding 
both  music  and  govemessing '  ?  Strange  to  say,  there  was  still 
so  little  demand  for  her  writings,  that  during  two  years  she  lived 
on  fifty  pounds  a  year,  most  of  which  was  earned  with  her 
needle.  She  wrote  some  stories  and  carried  them  to  London 
herself;  but  although  a  volume  of  them, '  Traditions  of  Palestine,' 
now  ranks  amongst  the  best  of  her  works,  the  publishers  received 
her  as  the  great  French  publisher  received  Lucien  in  the  *  Grand 
Homme  de  Province,'  of  Balzac :  *  On  n'entre  ici  qu'avec  une 
reputation  faite.  Devenez  celebre,  et  vous  y  trouverez  des  flots 
d'or.  .  .  .  Je  ne  suis  pas  ici  pour  etre  le  marchepied  des  gloires 

a  venir, 


492  Harriet  MartineaiCs  Autobiography. 

a  venir,  mais  pour  gagner  de  Targent  et  pour  en  donner  ans 
bommes  celebres.'  She  says  that,  having  no  literary  acquaint- 
ance or  connexion,  she  could  not  get  anything  she  wrote  eTcn 
looked  at ;  so  that  everything  went  to  the  ^  Repository '  at  last 

'  I  do  not  mean  that  any  amount  of  literary  oonnexioii  irooU 
necessarily  have  been  of  any  service  to  me ;  for  I  do  not  beliere  ihai 
"  patronage,"  "  introductions,"  and  the  like  are  of  any  avail,  in  * 
geueral  way.     I  know  this ; — that  I  have  always  been  anxious  to 
extend  to  young  or  struggling  authors  the  sort  of  aid  which  wooU 
have  been  so  precious  to  me  in  that  winter  of  1829-1880,  and  that,  in 
above  twenty  years,  I  have  never  succeeded  but  once.     I  obtained  iba 
publication  of  «  The  Two  Old  Men's  Tales,"— the  first  of  Mrs.  Manh's 
novels :  but,  from  the  time  of  my  own  success  to  this  hour,  erery 
other  attempt,  of  the  scores  I  have  made,  to  get  a  hearing  for  yonog 
or  new  aspirants  has  failed.    My  own  heart  was  often  very  near 
sinking, — as  were  my  bodily  forces ;  and  with  reason.    During  the 
daylight  hours  of  that  winter,  I  was  poring  over  fine  fiBUicy-work,  by 
which  alone  I  earned  any  money ;  and  after  tea,  I  went  upstairs  to 
my  room,  for  my  day's  literary  labour.' 

Her  prize-money,  forty-five  guineas,  gave  a  timely  respite 
from  pressing  care  if  not  from  labour,  and  in  the  autumn  of 
1831,  we  find  her  with  all  her  powers  concentrated  on  he*" 
'  Political  Economy  Series.' 

'  I  was  resolved  that,  in  the  first  place,  the  thing  should  be  doD^<^ 
The  people  wanted  the  hook  ;  and  they  shotdd  have  it.  Next  I  resohed 
to  sustain  my  health  under  the  suspense,  if  possible,  by  keeping  up  ^ 
mood  of  steady  determination,  and  unfaltering  hope.  Next,  I  reeolveo; 
never  to  lose  my  temper,  in  the  whole  course  of  the  business.  X 
know  I  was  right ;  and  people  who  are  aware  that  they  are  in  th^ 
right  need  never  lose  temper.* 

The  third  resolution  was  severely  tested,  and  no  one  eve^ 
suffered  more  from  the  sickening  pang  of  hope  deferred.  Th^ 
time  was  inauspicious  : — 

*  I  wrote  to  two  or  three  publishers  from  Dublin,  opening  Bf 
scheme ;  but  one  after  another  declined  having  anything  to  do  wiili- 
it,  on  the  ground  of  the  disturbed  state  of  the  public  mind,  wUcb 
afforded  no  encouragement  to  put  out  new  books.  The  bishops  bad 
recently  thrown  out  the  Beform  Bill ;  and  everybody  was  watcbinp 
the  progress  of  the  Cholera, — then  regarded  with  as  much  honor  a» 
a  plague  of  the  Middle  Ages.' 

Messrs.  Baldwin  and  Cradock  requested  her  to  take  London 
on  her  way  from  Ireland  to  Norwich,  and  made  an  appointment 
which  she  attended  with  a  beating  heart : — 

^  Messrs.  Baldwin  and  Cradock  sat  superb  in  their  arm-chairs^  ^ 

their 


Harriet  MartineaiCs  Autobiography,  493 

r  brown  wigs,  looking  as  cautions  as  possible,  bnt  relaxing  visibly 
3r  the  influence  of  my  confidence.  My  cousin  said  that,  in  their 
e,  he  should  have  felt  my  confidence  a  sufficient  guarantee, — so 
r  as  I  assigned  the  grounds  of  it :  and  Messrs  Baldwin  and 
lock  seemed  to  be  nearly  of  the  same  mind,  though  they  brought 
ft  long  string  of  objections,  beginning  with  my  proposed  title,  and 
ng  with  the  Beform  Bill  and  the  Cholera.' 

'.  advertisement  they  put  out  as  a  feeler  attracted  no  notice, 
after  keeping  her  some  time  longer  in  suspense,  they  wrote 
ay  that  considering  the  public  excitement  they  could  not 
tore: — 

Sere  was  the  whole  work  to  b^^  again.  I  stifled  my  sigh^,  and 
lowed  my  tears,  and  wrote  to  one  publisher  after  another,  re- 
ing  instant  refusals  from  all,  except  Messrs.  Whittaker.  They 
up  the  negotiation  for  a  few  posts,  but  at  length  joined  the 
lal  chorus  about  the  Beform  Bill  and  the  Oholera. 

lie  upshot  is  that  the  only  publisher  who  could  be  induced  to 
J  the  risk,  was  a  young  one  without  business  or  connexion,  the 
her  of  her  Unitarian  friend.  Fox,  with  whom  she  came  to  terms 
2h  practically  reduced  his  risk  to  a  minimum.     The  work 

to  be  published  by  subscription,  and  five  hundred  sub- 
>ers  were  to  be   procured  before   the  printing  began :    he 

to  have  half  the  profits,  besides  commission  ;  and  the 
ement  was  to  cease  at  the  end  of  any  five  numbers  at  the 
L  of  either  party.  She  managed  somehow  or  other  to  get 
cribers,  but  the  greater  number  of  them  were  relatives  or 
ids  who  subscribed  out  of  kindness,  and  deemed  the  money 
^m  away.  One  foggy  morning  she  called  on  Mr.  Fox  to 
r  him  a  prospectus : — 

found  Mr.  Fox  in  a  mood  as  gloomy  as  the  day.  He  had  seen 
James  Mill,  who  had  assured  him  that  my  method  of  exemplifica- 
—/the  grand  principle  of  the  whole  scheme) — could  not  possibly 
M ;  and  Mr.  Fox  now  required  of  me  to  change  my  plui  entirely, 
Lflsue  my  ''  Political  Economy  "  in  a  didactic  form !  Of  course,  I 
«d.  He  started  a  multitude  of  objections, — feared  everything, 
hoped  nothing.  I  saw,  with  anguish  and  no  little  resentment, 
ttstpoor  chance  slipping  from  me.  I  commanded  myself  while 
a  presence.  The  occasion  was  too  serious  to  be  misused.  I  said 
Kn,  *'  I  see  you  have  taken  fright.  If  you  wish  that  your  brother 
Id  draw  back,  say  so  now.    Here  is  the  advertisement.    Make  up 

mind  before  it  goes  to  press."  He  replied,  *'I  do  not  wish 
;ether  to  draw  back."  "  Tes,  you  do,"  said  I :  *'  and  I  had  rather 
Would  say  so  at  once.  But  I  tell  you  this : — the  people  want  this 
'•^  and  ih^  tihaU  have  it." ' 

interview  ends  by  his  assenting  to  the  issue  of  the  adver- 
tisement^ 


494  Harriet  Martineau*8  Aviobiography. 

tisement,  clogged  with  the  additional  stipulation  that  his  brother 
should  give  up  at  the  end  of  two  numbers,  unless  thej  sold  a 
thousand  in  a  fortnight.  On  her  walk  back  to  the  friend's  home 
at  which  she  was  staying,  she  became  too  giddy  to  stand  without 
support ;  and  she  leaned  over  some  dirty  palings,  pretending  to 
look  at  a  cabbage-bed,  but  saying  to  herself,  as  she  stood  with 
closed  eyes,  *  My  book  will  do  yet'  This  may  be  bracketed 
with  the  *  E  pur  si  muove '  of  Galileo,  and  the — *  I  have  it  in  me 
and,  by  God,  it  shall  come  out  1 ' — of  Sheridan. 

'  I  wrote  the  Preface  to  my  ^  Illnstrations  of  Political  Eoonomy'' 
that  evening ;  and  I  hardly  think  that  anyone  would  discover  from 
it  that  I  had  that  day  simk  to  the  lowest  point  of  discoongemaii 
about  my  scheme. — At  eleven  o'clock,  I  sent  the  servants  to  bed.  I 
finished  the  Preface  just  after  the  Brewery  clock  had  struok  two.  I 
was  chilly  and  hungry :  the  lamp  burned  low,  and  the  fire  was  small 
I  knew  it  would  not  do  to  go  to  bed,  to  dream  over  again  the  bitter 
disappointment  of  the  morning.  I  began  now,  at  last,  to  doabt 
whether  my  work  would  ever  see  the  light.  I  thought  of  the  mmU' 
tudea  who  needed  it — and  especiaily  of  the  poor — to  (usitt  them  ta 
managing  their  own  welfare.  I  thought  too  of  my  own  oonsdoos 
power  of  doing  this  very  thing.' 

The  only  bit  of  encouragement  she  received  was  on  the  Sunday 
preceding  the  publication,  when  the  publisher  wrote  to  say  that 
he  had  a  bookseller's  order  for  a  hundred  copies. 

'  To  the  best  of  my  recollection,  I  waited  ten  days  from  the  day  of 
publication,  before  I  had  another  line  from  the  publisher.  My 
mother,  judging  from  his  ill-humour,  inferred  that  he  had  good  newa 
to  tell:  whereas  I  supposed  the  contrary.  My  mother  was  right, 
and  I  could  now  be  amused  at  his  last  attempts  to  be  disoouraging  in 
the  midst  of  splendid  success.  At  the  end  of  those  ten  days,  he  seat 
with  his  letter  a  copy  of  my  first  number,  desiring  me  to  make  with 
all  speed  any  corrections  I  might  wish  to  make,  as  he  had  scarcely 
any  copies  left.  He  added  that  the  demand  led  him  to  propose  thit 
we  should  now  print  two  thousand.  A  postscript  informed  me  thit 
since  he  wrote  the  above,  he  had  found  that  we  should  want  three 
thousand.  A  second  postscript  proposed  four  thousand,  and  a  third 
five  thousand.  The  letter  was  worth  having,  now  it  had  come.  There 
was  immense  relief  in  this ;  but  I  remember  nothing  like  intoxica- 
tion ; — like  any  painful  reaction  whatever.  I  remember  walking  np 
and  down  the  grassplat  in  the  garden  (I  think  it  was  on  the  10th  ci 
February)  feeling  that  my  cares  were  over. 

'  The  entire  periodical  press,  daily,  weekly,  and,  as  soon  as  possible, 
monthly,  came  out  in  my  favour ;  and  I  was  overwhelmed  wiUi  news- 
papers and  letters,  containing  every  sort  of  flattery.  The  Diffoaon 
Society  wanted  to  have  the  Series  now ;  and  Mr.  Hume  offered)  on 

behalf 


Harriet  Martineav!s  Autobiography.  495 

behalf  of  a  new  society  of  which  he  was  the  head,  any  price  I  would 
name  for  the  purchase  of  the  whole.  I  cannot  precisely  answer  for 
the  date  of  these  and  other  applications ;  but,  as  far  as  I  remember, 
there  was,  from  the  middle  of  February  onwards,  no  remission  of 
such  applications,  the  meanest  of  which  I  should  have  clutched  at  a 
few  weeks  before.  Members  of  Parliament  sent  down  blue  books 
through  the  post-of&ce,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  postmaster,  who 
one  day  sent  word  that  I  must  send  for  my  own  share  of  the  mail,  for 
it  could  not  be  carried  without  a  barrow ; — an  announcement  which, 
spreading  in  the  town,  caused  me  to  be  stared  at  in  the  streets.  Thus 
began  thai  sort  of  experience.  Half  the  hobbies  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  numberless  notions  of  individuals,  anonymous  and 
other,  were  commended  to  me  for  treatment  in  my  Series,  with  which 
some  of  them  had  no  more  to  do  than  geometry  or  the  atomie 
theory.' 

To  what  was  this  success  owing  ?  Was  she  right  in  believing, 
intuitively  and  instinctively,  that  she  was  obeying  a  popular 
call,  and  that  her  work  would  be  haiIed^  by  the  multitude  wbo' 
needed  it  to  assist  them  in  managing  their  own  welfare  ?  Was 
it  so  hailed  by  the  multitude  ?  Is  it  not  ^  caviare  to  the  general  ^ 
to  this  hour  ?  The  circulation  extended  little  if  at  all  beyond 
the  cultivated  class.  The  monthly  sale  of  the  Series  never 
exceeded  six  or  seven  thousand.  The  monthly  sale  of  the 
*  Pickwick  Papers,'  prior  to  the  conclusion,  exceeded  forty-five 
thousand.  Writing,  shortly  before  her  death,  in  the  third  per^ 
son,  and  assuming  the  tone  of  an  impartial  critic,  she  says : — 

^  The  original  idea  of  exhibiting  the  great  natural  laws  of  society, 
by  a  series  of  pictures  of  selected  social  action,  was  a  fortunate  one ; 
and  her  tales  initiated  a  multitude  of  minds  into  the  conception  of 
what  political  economy  is  and  of  how  it  concerns  everybody  living  in 
Bodely.  Beyond  this,  there  is  no  merit  of  a  high  order  in  the  work. 
The  urtistic  aim  and  qualifications  were  absent :  she  had  no  power  of 
dramatio  construction :  nor  the  poetic  inspiration,  on  the  one  hand, 
nor  critical  cultivation,  on  the  other,  without  which  no  work  of  the 
imagination  can  be  worthy  to  live.'  * 

We  have  arrived  at  a  diametrically  opposite  conclusion. 
There  was  little  originality  in  the  idea  of  exhibiting  the 
natural  laws  of  society  in  action.  It  was  a  short  and  easy  leap 
from  *  Evenings  at  Home,'  or  Miss  Edgeworth's  *  Moral  Tales ' 
to  ^  Illustrations  of  Political  Economy.'  But  the  utility  is 
more  important  than  the  originality;  and  we  have  yet  to 
leam   that    any   appreciable    amount  of   scientific    knowledge 

*  The  '  Daily  News,'  June  29th,  1876.  The  article  appeared  in  the  shape  of  an 
dbitoary  notice. 

was 


496  Harriet  Martineav!s  Autobiography, 

• 

was  or  could  be  diffused  by  her  writings.  At  the  same  time, 
she  does  herself  less  than  justice  in  disclaiming  artistic  skill 
and  dramatic  power.  She  excels  in  situation,  description,  and 
character.  She  is  far  from  wanting  in  sentiment,  elevation 
of  thought,  or  poetic  fancy,  although  it  may  fall  short  of  in- 
spiration. Above  all,  her  best  stories  please  as  stories,  and 
lead  us  on  with  unabated  interest  to  the  end.  They  have 
points  in  common  with  the  sensational  school ;  and  this  wai 
their  real  attraction  for  the  mass  of  readers,  who  read  for 
amusement.  But  the  primary  and  essential  cause  of  her  success 
was  the  state  of  the  national  mind  when  she  came  out. 

*  A  jest's  prosperity  lies  in  the  ear  of  him  who  hears  it'  The 
reception  of  a  book  equally  depends  on  the  predisposition  of 
the  public  to  which  it  is  addressed.  One  example  amongst  manj 
may  suffice.  In  the  autumn  and  winter  of  1870-71,  during  the 
siege  of  Paris,  the  feeling  of  sympathy  with  the  French  grew 
so  strong  that  many  thought  the  time  had  come  for  England 
to  interpose  with  effect.  This  feeling  found  expression  in  t 
brochure^  entitled,  ^  The  Fight  at  Dame  Europa's  School,  show- 
ing how  the  German  Boy  thrashed  the  French  Boy,  and  the 
English  Boy  looked  on.'  There  are  five  monitors  who  have 
each  a  garden.  The  English  boy's  is  an  island  on  which  he 
has  a  workshop ;  and  the  French  boy's  comprises  an  arbour  in 
which  he  regales  his  friends  with  grapes  and  champagne.  The 
moral  is  drawn  and  pointed  by  the  Dame,  who  on  hearing  of  the 
fight,  tells  the  English  boy  that  he  is  a  sneaking,  cowardlj 
fellow  for  remaining  neutral.  Nothing  could  be  less  like  t 
Dame's  School.  The  allegory  is  incongruous  and  ill-sustained, 
and  the  moral  doubtful  at  best.  Yet  more  than  a  hundred 
thousand  copies  were  sold  within  three  months. 

The  solution  is  that  a  responsive  chord  had  been  stnick. 
Miss  Martineau  was  similarly  fortunate  in  finding  the  required 
train  laid  ready  to  her  hand.  The  Reform  Bill  and  the  Cholera, 
instead  of  being  her  worst  enemies,  were  her  best  friends.  They 
had  made  people  serious,  and  created  a  taste  for  grave  subjects. 
The  Utilitarian  philosophy,  better  represented  than  it  has  ever 
been  since,  was  gaining  ground.  The  political  economists  were 
in  vogue.  The  names  of  Malthus,  MaccuUoch,  Ricardo,  Jeremj 
Bentham,  James  Mill,  John  Stuart  Mill,  were  familiar  as 
household  terms.  Young  gentleihen  and  ladies,  who  wished  \o 
pass  for  clever,  were  expected  to  be  well  up  in  *Mr8.  Marcets 
Conversations,'  if  they  went  no  deeper.  The  popular  tone  and 
tendency  were  marked  enough  to  supply  a  telling  topic  for  the 
satirist — 


Harriet  Martineav!s  Autohio^raphy.  497 

^  *Tis  my  fortime  to  know  a  lean  Benthamite  spinster, 
A  maid,  who  her  faith  in  old  Jeremy  puts : 
Who  talks,  with  a  lisp,  of  the  last  new  "  Westminsf  er," 
And  hopes  you're  delighted  with  "  Mill  upon  Gluts."  *  * 

ere  is  always  action  and  reaction  in  these  cases.  But 
Martineau  certainly  did  not  create  the  taste  for  political 
my  if  she  promoted  it ;  and  one  branch,  the  Malthusian 
fj  was  just  Uien  attracting  an  amount  of  interest  which  no 
1  could  enhance.  It  was  whilst  she  was  meditating  her 
iiat  the  abuses  of  the  old  system  of  poor-laws  had  reached 
acme  and  were  felt  to  be  unendurable.  ^In  1832  was 
the  phenomenon  of  whole  parishes  of  fertile  land  being 
[oned,  the  landlords  giving  up  their  rents,  the  farmers  the 
cy,  the  clergyman  his  glebe  and  the  tithes.  We  find 
lupers  assembled  and  refusing  to  accept  of  the  offer  of  the 
)  land  of  the  parish,  avowing  that  they  liked  the  present 

n  better In  a  period  of  great  general  prosperity, 

K>rtion  of  England  in  which  by  much  the  largest  expendi- 
»f  poor-rates  had  been  made,  was  the  scene  of  daily  riot 

lightly  incendiarism.' t 

;er  an  appalling  picture  of  the  condition  of  England  when 

sries  began,  Mrs.  Chapman  remarks : — 

le  public  action  of  this  period  directly  to  be  traoed  to  Harriet 
aeau's  political  influence  may  be  seen  in  the  Beform  song,  sung 
oncovered  heads  by  what  were  called  the  ^  monster  meetings," 
immense  assemblages  of  the  people  that  in  1831  shook  the 
om  into  a  speedy  but  pacific  and  constitutional  reform  in  1832.' 

;  shall  next  be  told  that  Catholic  Emancipation,  the  Repeal 
I  Test  Acts,  and  the  Reform  of  the  Criminal  Law,  were 
^  to  her.  In  the  same  spirit  of  exaggeration  this  lady 
eds : — 

arsons  of  the  highest  intelligence,  literary  cultivation,  and 
>usly  trained  thought,  like  Sara  Coleridge,  took  such  a  mistaken 
lerely  literary  view  of  the  matter  as  this  : — 
WhsX  a  pity  it  is,  that,  with  all  her  knowledge  of  child-nature, 

Hiss  M )  should  try  to  persuade  herself  and  others  that 

vbI  economy  is  a  fit  and  useful  study  for  growing  minds  and 
d  capabilities, — a  subject  of  all  others  requiring  matured 
)ct  and  general  information  as  its  basis !  This  same  political 
my  which  quickens  the  sale  of  her  works  now,  will,  I  think, 
heavy  ballast  for  a  vessel  that  is  to  sail  down  the  stream  of 

loore,  *Ode  to  the  Sublime  Porte.*    Written  prior  to  Miss  Martincau's 

ftnoe  on  the  stage. 

j^ncjclopedia  Britannica,'  Art.  *  Poor  Laws.' 

I.  143.— JVb.  ii86.  2  K  time 


498  .  Harriet  MartineatCs  Autobiography. 

time  .....  And  she  might  have  riyalled  Hiss  Edgeworthl  .... 
And  then,  what  practical  benefit  con  such  studies  have  for  the  idisb 
of  the  people  for  whom,  it  seems,  that  Miss  M intends  her  ex- 
positions.?"* 

We  go  further  than  Sara  (Mrs.  Henry  Nelson)  Coleridge. 
What  a  pity  it  is  that  Miss  Martineau  should  have  tried  to 
persuade  herself  and  others  that  political  economy,  considered 
as  a  science,  is  a  fit  subject  for  fiction !  Let  us  test  this,  as  well 
as  the  amount  of  solid  instruction  she  diffused,  by  a  brief  refer- 
ence to  her  Tales.  The  first  of  the  series,  entitled,  ^  Life  in  the 
Wilds,'  is  the  story  of  a  party  of  settlers  at  the  Cape,  who  are 
reduced  to  the  verge  of  destitution  by  an  inroad  of  the  Btuh- 
men.  They  have  little  left  beyond  the  clothes  upon  their  backi 
and  a  few  tools.  The  three  best  heads  amongst  them  oonsolt, 
and  take  the  conduct  of  affairs.  All  are  forced  to  work:  the 
product  of  well-directed  labour  accumulates  into  capital,  and 
a  tolerable  amount  of  well-being  is  restored  ;  the  various  stages 
of  the  process  are  noted  as  it  goes  on  ;  and  the  precise  difference 
between  productive  and  unproductive  labour,  as  well  as  the 
exact  nature  of  capital  and  wealth,  are  made  clear  to  the  un- 
initiated. There  is  nothing  new,  and  nothing  applicable  to 
England,  in  showing  how  people  ought  to  act  in  such  circum- 
stances ;  and  the  reader  acquires  about  the  same  amount  of 
science,  communicated  in  much  the  same  way,  as  M.  Joordaio 
had  acquired  of  language  when  he  found  that  he  had  bees 
speaking  prose  all  his  life  without  knowing  it. 

'  And  all  a  rhetorician's  rules 
Teach  nothing  but  to  name  his  tools.' 

So  far  as  the  teaching  of  scientific  terms  goes,  the  *  Loves  of 
the  Triangles '  might  pass  for  a  lesson  in  mathematics. 

The  second  Tale,  *  The  Hill  and  the  Valley,'  presents  some 
well-drawn  characters,  male  and  female,  and  some  striking 
scenes.  That  in  which  Paul  makes  gooid  his  defence  of  the 
building  till  the  swords  of  the  military  are  seen  flashing 
amongst  the  assailants,  may  be  placed  alongside  the  spirited 
defence  of  the  Irish  country-house  in  *  Guy  Livingstone,'  or  the 
scene  in  *  Guy  Mannering '  when  the  prison  is  on  fire.  But  the 
political-economy  lesson  is  compressed  into  a  speech,  which  one 
of  the  partners  addresses  to  a  riotous  assembly  of  workpeoplet 
on  whom  it  has  the  same  effect  which  it  would  produce  on  a 
similar  assembly  at  this  hour ;  the  purport  of  it  being  that  the 
labourer  and  the  capitalist  are  embarked  in  the  same  boat, 
and  must  sink  or  swim  together.  If  the  labouring  class  hare 
not  arrived  at  this  conclusion  from  their  personal  experience  of 

<  strike** 


Harriet  MartineaiCs  AiUobiography.  499 

» 

/strikes'  with  the  attendant  deprivations,  their  opinions  and 
conduct  will  hardly  be  influenced  by  reading  (if  they  read) 
these  deprivations  as  set  forth  in  a  Tale. 

The  third  Tale  is  open  to  an  additional  and  graver  objection. 
It  is  an  instance  of  the  almost  inevitable  abuse  of  fiction  when 
employed  for  such  purposes.  It  is  the  story  of  the  enclosure  of  a 
common ;  and  the  moral  is  that  enclosures  are  to  be  encouraged 
^s  adding  to  production,  making  no  account  of  the  disturbance 
of  habits  or  the  loss  of  healthful  recreation  for  the  neighbour- 
hood. Incidentally,  she  discountenances  small  holdings,  in- 
dnding  peasant-proprietors,  by  drawing  a  melancholy  picture 
of  a  small  proprietor  who  refuses  to  part  with  his  field.  Now 
these  are  debateable  questions,  on  which  the  commoners  of 
Plnmstead  and  the  advocates  of  peasant-proprietorship  (like 
John  Stuart  Mill)  would  have  a  word  or  two  to  say.  It  is  an 
idle  mockery  to  talk  of  science  when  the  palpable  object  is 
,to  advance  a  one-sided  view.  Science  defines  and  generalises ; 
fiction  invents  and  cblours;  science  deals  with  the  abstract, 
fiction  with  the  concrete.  Principles. should  be  deduced  from 
actual  facts  or  incidents ;  not  facts  or  incidents  be  fancied  or 
moulded  to  suit  principles.  Moreover,  if  we  resort  to  fiction 
and  appeal  to  sentiment,  it  is  far  from  clear  that  political  economy 
will  be  the  gainer  upon  the  whole.  No  artistic  representation 
of  prosperity  resulting  from  *  Clearings '  will  outweigh  the  ex- 
-quisite  lament  in  *The  Deserted  Village'  over  the  ^humble 
happiness'  that  had  been  ruthlessly  sacrificed  to  wealth  :• — 

'  Those  healthfol  sports  that  grao'd  the  peaceful  scene 
Liv'd  in  eaoh  look,  and  brightened  all  the  green : 
These,  far  departing,  seek  a  kinder  shore, 

And  rural  mixih  and  manners  are  no  more.' 

• 

The  material  advance  of  a  country  is  like  the  car  of  Jug- 
j^emaut:  it  destroys,  crushes,  maims,  and  mangles,  as  it  moves 
on ;  and  the  individual  sufferings  of  the  victims  afford  better 
materials  for  romance  than  the  general  good.  Nothing  would 
be  easier  than  to  compose  a  Tale  to  discredit  any  marked  step 
in  social  progress  or  any  sweeping  measure  of  improvement ; 
for  example,  to  represent  a  community  which  had  thriven 
on  protected  industry  suddenly  ruined  by  free-trade,  or  the 
interesting  family  of  an  innkeeper  or  stagecoach  proprietor 
Tednced  to  poverty  by  a  railroad.  The  tables  might  be  turned 
■against  the  population-principle  by  contrasting  a  testy  old 
bachelor  or  crabbed  old  maid,  ^  doom'd  to  a  lone  and  loveless 
bed,'  with  a  young  couple,  poor  but  happy,  blest  with  a  brace 
of  babies  and  looking  hopefully  forward  to  a  full  quiver.     Or 

2  K  2  ^\»x 


500  Harriet  Martineau^s  Autobiography, 

what  fiction  would  outweigh  the  positive  fact  of  Lord  Eldon't 
marriage  in  his  twenty  -  second  year  with  a  beaatifiil  girl, 
neither  having  a  sixpence  of  their  own,  and  the  utter  falsifica* 
tion  of  the  Newcastle  prophecy :  *  Jack  Scott  has  run  off  with 
Bessy  Surtees,  and  the  poor  lad  is  undone'?  The  marriage 
supplied  the  very  stimulant  to  exertion  which  he  wanted,  and 
the  result  confirmed  the  advice  of  Thurlow  (some  say  Kenyon) 
to  a  law-student,  ^  Spend  your  own  fortune,  marry,  and  spend 
your  wife's,  and  then  you  will  have  some  chance  of  succeeding 
in  the  law.' 

One  of  Miss  Martineau's  Tales  was  written  to  enforce  Mac* 
cuUoch's  doctrine  that  absenteeism  is  no  injury  to  Ireland. 
It  was  preceded  by  *  The  Absentee '  of  Miss  Edgeworth,  who^ 
so  far  at  least  as  popular  effect  is  concerned,  has  clearly  the 
best  of  the  argument.  The  visit  incog,  of  Lord  Colambre^ 
(the  heir  apparent)  to  the  paternal  estates  brings  to  light  a  host 
of  abuses  which  a  resident  landlord  might  have  prevented  or 
set  right.  Neither  MaccuUoch  nor  Miss  Martineau  appear  to 
have  made  much  impression  on  the  people  most  inter^ted  in 
the  argument.  Not  long  since  an  orator  at  a  public  meeting 
in  Ireland,  admitting  the  evil,  was  expatiating  on  the  di- 
minished number  of  absentees,  when  he  was  interrupted  by  the 
indignant  protest :  ^  Diminished,  Sir,  why  the  whole  country's 
full  of  them !' 

*  In  the  "  Edinburgh  Review  "  of  my  "  Political  Economy  Series" 
(says  Miss  Martineau) — a  review  otherwise  as  weoJc  as  it  is  Hud— 
there  is  the  best  appreciation  of  the  principle  of  the  work  that  I 
have  seen  anywhere ;  a  page  or  so  of  perfect  understanding  of  my 
view  and  purpose.' 

On  turning  to  this  page,  we  find  that,  as  a  preliminary  and 
indispensable  condition,  ^she  merely  stipulates  that  she  will 
allow  Political  Economy  to  be  talked  by  people,  and  under 
circumstances,  where  it  was  never  talked  before;'  in  other 
words,  that  since  it  is  incongruous  and  out  of  place  in  ordinarj 
conversation,  she  shall  be  allowed  to  drag  it  in  head  and 
shoulders  at  the  risk  (or  rather  certainty)  of  bringing  the  action 
of  the  Tale  to  a  dead  stop,  or  to  put  it  into  the  mouths  of  her 
dramatis  personm  when  it  is  completely  out  of  keeping  with  the 
characters.  This  is  precisely  what  she  has  done  in  ^  Ella  of 
Garveloch,'  perhaps  the  best  of  her  stories,  where  the  action  i» 
suspended  to  introduce  an  explanation  of  the  Ricardo  theoiy  of 
rent  I 

We  (of  the  *  Quarterly ')  are  spared  the  humiliating  imputa- 
tion of  weakness  bordering  on  imbecility,  cast  on  our  distin- 
guished 


Harriet  Afartineau's  Autobiography.  501 

guished  contemporary ;  but  five  or  six  pages  of  bitter  censure 
and  reproach  are  levelled  at  us  in  the  Autobiography,  to  say 
nothing  of  Mrs.  Chapman's  downright  assertion,  that  ^  Mr.  Lock- 
hart,  as  the  Editor  of  the  Tory  "  Quarterly,"  disgraced  himself 
and  the  review  by  an  utter  want  of  decency  and  honesty.' 

'  'Tis  a  pity  when  charming  women 
Talk  of  Uiings  that  they  don't  understand/ 

All  that  is  said  by  both  these  ladies  touching  the  article  in 
question  is  simply  a  specimen  of  the  gohemoucherie  to  which 
both  of  them  were  prone,  e.g.  in  the  Autobiography : — 

*Mr.  Croker  had  declared  at  a  dinner-party  that  he  expected  a 
revolution  under  the  Whigs,  and  to  lose  his  pension ;  and  that  he 
intended  to  lay  by  his  pension  while  he  could  get  it,  and  maintain 
himaelf  by  his  pen ;  and  that  he  had  *'  begun  by  tomahawking  Miss 
Martineau  in  the  Quarterly." ' 

This  means,  if  it  means  anything,  that  the  thought  of  getting 
money  by  his  pen  had  only  just  been  forced  upon  Mr.  Croker 
by  the  Reform  Bill.     To  proceed  : — 

'  On  the  same  day,  another  friend  called  to  tell  me  that  my 
printers  (who  also  printed  the  '*  Quarterly  ")  thought  I  ought  to  know 
tiiat  ^'the  filthiest  thing  that  had  passed  through  the  press  for  a 
quarter  of  a  century  "  was  coming  out  against  me  in  the  "  Quarterly."  ' 

She  had  just  before  stated  that  Mr.  Lockhart,  after  ^  the 
atrocious  article '  was  in  print,  ^  wanting  to  seize  an  opportunity 
that  might  be  the  last  for  meeting  her,'  had  eagerly  pressed  for 
an  introduction,  and  was  refused. 

*  I  was  long  afterwards  informed  that  Lady  G.  went  to  him  early 
the  next  day  (which  was  Sunday)  and  told  him  that  he  would  repent 
of  the  article,  if  it  wets  wliat  he  had  represented  to  her ;  and  I  ^ow 
from  the  printers  that  Mr.  Lockhart  went  down  at  once  to  the  office, 
and  cut  out  "  all  the  worst  passages  of  the  review/'  at  great  incon- 
venience and  expense.  What  he  could  have  cut  out  that  was  worse 
dian  what  stands,  it  is  not  easy  to  conceive.' 

Nor  is  this  all  that  reached  her  touching  the  secret  history  of 
this  production : — 

*  The  sequel  of  the  story  is  that  the  writer  of  the  origiool  article, 
Mr.  Poulett  Scrope,  requested  a  mutual  friend  to  tell  me  that  he  was 
xeady  to  acknowledge  the  political  economy  of  the  article  to  be  his ; 
but  that  he  hoped  ho  was  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  have  stooped 
to  ribaldry,  or  even  jest ;  and  that  I  must  understand  that  he  was  not 
more  or  less  responsible  for  anything  in  the  article  which  we  could 
not  discuss  face  to  face  with  satisfaction.  Messrs.  Lockhart  and 
<Croker  made  no  secret  of  the  ribaldry  being  theirs.' 

The 


502  Harriet  Martineau^s  Autobiography. 

The  plain  answer  to  all  this  foolish  gossip  is  that  nothing  of 
the  sort  took  place  :  that  there  was  no  ribaldry  to  own,  and  no 
wish  or  intention  to  destroy  or  tomahawk.     The  second  para- 
graph of  the  article  begins  thus : — 

*  There  is,  we  admit,  much  which  it  is  impossible  not  to  admire  i^ 
Miss  Martineaa*B  prodactions — the  praiseworthy  intention  and  boie^ 
volent  spirit  in  which  they  are  written — and  the  varied  knowledge  o» 
nature  and  society,  the  acate  discrimination  of  character,  and  remazlc'^ 
able  power  of  entering  into,  and  describing  the  feelings  of  the  pooro^ 
class,  which  several  of  her  little  narratives  evinced/  * 

The  passage,  the  only  passage,  which  was  or  could  be  repre-^ 
sented,  or  rather  misrepresented,  as  ribaldry,  was  a  wamin: 
to  Miss  Martineau  that  there  were  certain  topics  which 
unmarried  woman  could  not  be  supposed  to  understand  an<K 
had  better  let  alone.  The  sentence  on  which  we  conunenteG= 
was  this : — 


'  The  parent  has  considerable  influence  over  the  subsistent  fond  o=~ 
his  fjEunily,  and  an  absolute  control  over  the  numbers  to  be  tupportec^ 
by  it.' 


Referring  to  her  own  meditated  change  of  condition  in  182 
she  says:  ^I  long  ago  came   to  the  conclusion   that,  withoa  _ 
meddling  with  the  case  of  the  wives  and  mothers,  I  am  probabl 
the  happiest  single  woman  in  England.'     Then  why  did  shi 
meddle  with  the  case  of  the  wives  and  mothers  ? 

If,  as  she  states,  Mr.  Lockhart  subsequently  renewed  thi 
attempt  to  become  acquainted  with  her,  it  can  only  have  been 
because  he  was  unconscious  of  rudeness  or  wrong.  He  was  » 
proud,  reserved  man,  except  amongst  friends;  and  he  agreed 
with  Thomas  Moore  in  disliking  literary  ladies,  unless  they 
happened  to  be  handsome  and  thought  more  of  pleasing  a» 
women  than  as  wits. 

Her  account  of  her  difference  with  the  *  Times'  is  another 
specimen  of  her  simplicity  or  credulity.  She  states  that,  soon 
after  her  'Poor-law  Series'  began,  she  received  a  message  from 
Mr.  Barnes,  the  editor,  intimating  that  his  paper  was  prepared 
to  support  her  work  as  a  valuable  auxiliary  of  the  proposed 
reform.  Tlie  Ministers  were  assured  of  support  by  *  the  same 
potentate.' 

'  It  was  on  the  17th  of  April,  1834,  that  Lord  Althorp  introduced 
the  Bill.  His  speech,  full  of  facts,  earnest,  and  deeply  impressive, 
produced  a  strong  effect  on  the  House ;  and  the  Ministers  went  home 
to  bed  with  easy  minds, — little  imagining  what  awaited  them  at  the 

•  *  Quarterly  Review,'  vol.  xlix.  p.  136. 

breakbst 


Harriet  Martineau^s  Aviobiography.  503 

dast  table.  It  was  no  small  vexation  to  me,  on  opening  the 
les"  at  breakflEUBt  on  the  18th,  to  find  a  vehement  and  total 
umtation  of  the  New  Poor-law.  Everybody  in  London  was 
7  how  it  happened.  I  do  not  know,  except  in  as  far  as  I  was 
yy  some  people  who  knew  more  of  the  management  of  the  paper 
the  world  in  general.' 

le  account  of  ^  some  people,'  probably  the  same  who  supplied 
nrith  the  secret  history  of  our  article,  was  that  reports  had 
ed  of  the  hostility  of  the  country  justices — *  a  most  im- 
iut  class  of  customers ' — that  a  meeting  of  the  proprietors 
tield  on  the  evening  of  the  sixteenth,  at  which  the  policy  of 
mring  the  justices  was  carried  by  one  vote.  *  So  went  the 
.  Another  anecdote,  less  openly  spoken  of,  I  believe  to  be 
We  should  say  much  more  openly  spoken  of,  it  being 
ler  more  nor  less  than  a  garbled  version  (with  a  change  of 

of  the  old  story  of  Lord  Brougham's  torn  note,  the  pieces 
hich  were  picked  up  and  forwarded  to  Mr.  Barnes,  who 
%forth  declared  open  war  against  the  Government. 
>w.  Miss  Martineau's  *  Poor-law  Tales '  began  in  1833  ; 
if  the  *  Times '  had  pledged  itself  both  to  the  writer  and 
Vfinisters,  how  happens  it  that  no  notice,  preparatory  to 
ntroduction  of  the  measure,  was  taken  of  the  Series  ?  But 
;rence  to  the  file  of  the  *  Times'  suffices  to  show  how  little 
t  she  took  to  verify  statements  involving  imputations  of  the 
ist  kind.  She  did  not,  on  opening  the  ^  Times '  at  breakfast 
le  18th,  find  a  vehement  and  total  condemnation  of  the 
Poor-law.  The  article  did  not  appear  till  the  19th,  and 
irriter,  feeling  his  way  cautiously,  simply  objected  to  the 
ctions  on  out-of-door  relief.  It  was  a  tentative  article.  In 
Times'  of  April  29th,  1834,  ten  days  after  the  alleged 
el,  appeared  a  highly  laudatory  article  on  Lord  Brougham, 
e  *  Times '  of  May  9th,  1834,  a  brief  recommendation  of 
Martineau's  ^  Tale  against  Strikes '  is  qualified  by  a  protest 
st  being  supposed  to  be  a  general  admirer  of  her  works. 
»  the  line  taken  by  the  leading  journal  on  the  subject  of 
M^ew  Poor-law,  did  she  never  hear,  amongst  her  other 
iirs,  that  it  was  inspired  or  dictated  from  within?  Did 
lot  know  that,  unaffected  by  the  death  of  Mr.  Barnes,  it 
pursued  for  years  with  an  earnestness,  a  consistency,  and  a 
^rd  of  popular  favour,  that  could  only  have  been  produced 
nviction  ? 

a  strange  coincidence,  Thomas  Moore  acted  like  Mr. 
lart  in  seeking  her  acquaintance,  which  was  refused  on 
nt  of  some  verses  which  he  certainly  did  not  write.     Mr. 

Sterling, 


504  Harriet  Martineau's  Autobiography. 

Sterling,  *  The  Thunderer  of  the  "  Times," '  met  with  a  similar 
repulse : 

*  When  I  was  at  Tynemouth,  hopelessly  ill,  poor  and  helpleiB,  ibe 
"  Times"  ahosed  and  insulted  me  for  privately  refusing  a  pennon. 
Again  Mr.  Sterling  made  a  push  for  my  acquaintance ;  and  I  repeated 
what  I  had  said  before :  whereupon  he  declared  that  ^  it  cut  bim  to 
the  heart "  that  I  should  impute  to  him  the  ribaldry  and  coarse  iniolti 
of  scoundrels  and  ruffians  who  treated  me  as  I  had  been  treated  in  tbe 
"  Times."  I  dare  say  what  he  said  of  his  own  feelings  wm  true 
enough ;  but  it  will  never  do  for  responsible  editors,  like  Sterling 
and  Lockhart,  to  shirk  their  natural  retribution  for  the  sins  of  th^ 
publications  by  laying  the  blame  on  some  impalpable  offender  wbo, 
on  his  part,  has  very  properly  relied  on  their  responsibility.' 

Mr.  Sterling  was  never  editor  of  the  *  Times ; '  and  she  had 
already  stated  that  Mr.  Lockhart  publicly  admitted  his  personal 
participation  in  the  *  ribaldry.'  Talleyrand  said  of  Chateau- 
briand that  he  became  deaf  when  people  ceased  talking  about 
him.  Miss  Martineau  took  it  for  granted  that  people  never 
ceased  talking  about  her,  and  complacently  recoids  every  idle 
myth  about  her  doings  or  personality.  Her  'ear-trumpet  must 
have  resembled  the  allegorical  trumpet  of  Fame. 

*  The  flying  rumours  gathered  as  they  rolled ; 
Scarce  any  tale  was  sooner  heard  than  told, 
And  all  who  told  it  added  something  new. 
And  all  who  heard  it  made  enlargement  too.' 

She  heard  from  Mrs.  Marcet,  '  who  had  a  great  opinion  of  great 
people,'  that  Louis  Philippe  had  ordered  a  copy  of  the  Series 
for  each  member  of  his  family,  a  tolerably  numerous  one.  *  At 
the  same  time  I  heard  from  some  other  quarter  (I  forget  what) 
that  the  Emperor  of  Russia  had  ordered  a  copy  of  the  Series  for 
every  member  of  his  family.'  The  Emperor  of  Austria  paid 
her  the  compliment  of  including  her  and  her  Series  in  the  list 
of  persons  and  books  who  were  not  to  pass  the  frontier  of  hi* 
dominions. 

'  A  friend  of  mine  who  was  at  Kensington  Palace  one  evening  when 
my  "  Political  Economy  Series  "  was  coming  to  an  end,  told  me  how 
the  Princess  (Victoria)  came,  running  and  skipping,  to  show  her 
mother  the  advertisement  of  the  '^  Illustrations  of  Taxation,"  and  to 
get  leave  to  order  them.  Her  favourite  of  my  stories  is  "  EUa  of 
Garveloch." ' 

The  Whig  Government,  for  whom,  over  and  over  agaifl» 
she  expresses  a  sovereign  contempt,  could  not  stir  a  step 
without  her  aid.     Mr.  Drummond,  the  private  secretary  of  the 

Chancellor 


Harriet  Martineav!s  Autobiography.  505 

hancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  who  had  called  to  bespeak  a  tale 
^nst  Tithes,  ^had  not  been  gone  five  minutes  before  the 
hairman  of  the  Excise  Commission  called,  to  ask  in  the  name 

*  the  Commissioners,  whether  it  would  suit  my  purpose  to  write 
nmediatelj  on  the  Excise.'  She  is  very  ang^y  with  Lord 
Ithorp  for  abandoning  the  House  Tax  just  as  she  had  engaged 
>  write  a  tale  in  its  support.  Her  table  was  covered  with  cards 
id  invitations ;  and  the  social  penance  her  celebrity  entailed 
x>n  her,  led  to  her  setting  down  her  experience  and  impres- 
ons  as  a  lion  in  an  article  on  ^  Literary  Lionism,'  written  in 
)37,  the  bulk  of  which  is  reproduced  in  this  Autobiography: — 

*  The  sordid  characteristics  of  the  modem  system  appear  when  the 
dinent  person  becomes  a  guest  in  a  private  house.  If  the  resusci- 
ted  gentleman  of  the  fifteenth  century  were  to  walk  into  a  country 
mfle  in  England  in  company  with  a  lady  of  literary  distinction,  ho 
ight  see  at  once  what  is  in  the  mind  of  the  host  and  hostess.  All 
e  books  of  the  house  are  lying  about —all  the  gentry  in  the  neigh- 
inrhood  are  collected;  the  young  men  peep  and  stare  from  the 
»mer8  of  the  room ;  the  young  ladies  crowd  together,  even  sitting 
re  upon  three  chairs,  to  avoid  the  risk  of  being  addressed  by  the 
ranger.  The  lady  of  the  house  devotes  herself  to  '*  drawing  out " 
le  guest,  asks  for  her  opinion  of  this,  that,  and  the  other  book,  and 
tercedes  for  her  young  friends,  trembling  on  their  three  chairs,  that 
<sh  may  be  favoured  with  "  just  one  line  for  her  album."  Such  a 
ene,  very  common  now  in  JEfngUsh  country  houses,  must  present  an 
i&vourable  picture  of  our  manners  to  strangers  from  another  country 
'  another  age.  The  prominent  features  are  the  sufferings  of  one 
xrson,  and  the  selfishness  of  all  the  rest.' 

Bad  as  all  this  is,  she  continues,  the  case  is  worse  in  London : 

'  A  new  poet,  if  he  innocently  accepts  a  promising  invitation,  is 
Mb  to  find  out  afterwards  that  his  name  has  been  inserted  in  the 
mmonses  to  the  rest  of  the  company,  or  sent  round  from  mouth  to 
outh  to  secure  the  rooms  being  full.  If  a  woman  who  has  written  a 
ccoBsivl  play  or  novel  attends  the  soir^  of  a  **  lionising"  lady,  she 
*us  her  name  so  announced  on  the  stairs  as  to  make  it  certain  that 
e  servants  have  had  their  instructions ;  she  finds  herself  seized  upon 
the  door  by  the  hostess,  and  carried  about  to  lord,  lady,  philosopher, 
issip,  and  dandy,  each  heing  assured  that  she  cannot  he  spared  to 
.ch  for  more  than  ten  seconds.  She  sees  a  "  lion "  placed  in  the 
ntre  of  each  of  the  two  first  rooms  she  passes  through, — a  navigator 
om  the  North  Pole  in  the  one,  a  dusky  Egyptian  bey  or  Hmdoo 
jah  in  another ;  and  it  flashes  upon  her  that  she  is  to  be  the  centro 

*  attraction  in  a  third  apartment. 

«  ♦  «  «  «  » 

'  If  the  guest  he  meek  and  modest,  there  is  nothing  for  it  hut 
(ttiug  behind  a  door,  or  surrounding  herself  with  h^  friends  in  a 

comer. 


506  Harriet  Martineau^s  Autobiography. 

comer.  If  she  be  strong  enough  to  assert  herself,  she  will  retorn  li 
onoe  to  her  carriage,  and  take  care  how  she  enters  that  house  agiiiu 
A  few  instances  of  what  may  be  seen  in  London  daring  any  one 
season,  if  brought  together,  yield  but  a  sony  exhibition  of  themannen 
of  persons  who  give  parties  to  gratify  their  own  vanity,  instead  of 
enjoying  the  society  and  the  pleasure  of  their  friends.' 

The  efTect  on  the  victims  is  melancholy  in  the  extreme.  ^The 
drawing-room  is  the  g^ave  of  literary  promise.'  The  author 
overrates  his  vocation,  whilst  the  intoxication  of  flattery  is  kept 
up,  and  underrates  it  when  the  deleterious  ingredient  is  wii- 
drawn.  ^  He  must  be  a  strong  man  who  escapes  all  the  pit&Us 
into  this  tomb  of  ambition  and  of  powers.*  He  or  she  most  be 
a  very  weak  man  or  woman  to  whom  such  things  are  pitfalls; 
and  nothing  has  shaken  our  opinion  of  Miss  Martineau's  powen 
of  observation  and  reflection  more  than  this  superficial  and 
utterly  erroneous  tirade  against  what  she  is  pleased  to  term 
society.  She  seems  to  have  mistaken  what  may  have  occurred  to 
her  at  the  house  of  some  suburban  or  provincial  Mrs.  Leohunter, 
for  the  normal  reception  of  a  celebrity.  The  London  society,  in 
which  she  was  most  cordially  received  at  starting,  was  the 
literary  and  scientific  society,  which  happened  just  then  to  be 
particularly  good.  She  most  certainly  was  not  lionised,  nor 
saw  any  one  else  lionised^  by  Hallam,  Milman,  Rogers,  Sydney 
Smith,  Babbage,  Senior,  Lyell,  the  Austins,  the  Somervilles,  the 
Carlyles,  the  Berrys,  or  the  Grotes. 

Of  fashionable  life,  to  which  she  especially  refers,  she  saw 
little  or  nothing.  She  was  taken  up  rather  by  the  Whig- 
Radicals  than  by  the  Whigs.  She  says,  *  I  became  the  fashion, 
and  I  might  have  been  the  lion  of  several  seasons  had  I  chosen 
to  permit  it.'  She  here  confounds  things  essentially  distinct 
A  person  may  be  the  fashion  without  being  a  lion,  and  a  lion 
without  being  the  fashion.  A  person  may  be  the  fashion  for 
several  seasons  or  for  life ;  hardly  a  lion,  which  requires 
novelty.  She  was  never  the  fashion.  She  was  not  personally 
acquainted  with  any  one  of  the  female  leaders  of  fashion,  which 
was  then  a  power.  She  was  never  a  guest  in  any  one  of  the  grea^ 
London  houses ;  and  that  this  was  by  her  own  choice,  does  not 
alter  the  fact.*  In  this  respect  she  differed  widely  from  Mis* 
Edgeworth,  who  finishes  a  busy  day  of  intellectual  intercourse 
with  Almack's :  where  Lord  Londonderry  (Castlereagh)  hurries 
up  to  talk  of  *  Castle  Rack-rent '  and  Ireland,  and  introduce  her 
to  Lady  Londonderry,  who  invites  her  to  *  one  of  her  grandest 


^  It  is  n  sigaificaiit  fact,  as  regards  fSetshlon,  that  she  is  not  mentioned  in  tb^ 
*  Greville  Journals.* 


parties. 


Harriet  Martineau^s  Autobiography.  507 

s.'  Miss  Edgeworth  records  this  incident  with  com- 
icj.     Miss  Martineau   would   have   set   it   down    as   an' 

t:— 

r  one  instance ;  I  never  wonld  go  to  Lansdowne  House,  because 
J  that  I  was  invited  there  as  an  authoress,  to  undergo,  as  people 

that  house,  the  most  delicate  and  refined  process  of  being 
d, — but  still,  the  process.  The  Marquis  and  Marchioness  of 
)wne,  and  a  son  and  daughter,  caused  me  to  be  introduced  to 
it  Sir  Augustus  Callcotf  s ;  and  their  not  being  introduced  to 
»ther,  who  was  with  me,  showed  the  footing  on  which  I  stood, 
then  just  departing  for  America.  On  my  return,  I  was  invited 
ry  kind  of  party  at  Lansdowne  House, — a  concert,  a  state 
,  a  friendly  dinner  party,  a  small  evening  party,  and  a  ball ; 
iedined  them  all.  I  went  nowhere  but  where  my  acquaintance 
)ught,  as  a  lady,  by  ladies.  Mr.  Hallam  told  me — what  toa^ 
wughf — that  Lady  Lansdowne,  being  one  of  the  Queen's  ladies, 
)rd  Lansdowne,  being  a  Cabinet  Minister,  could  not  make  calls.*^ 
it  made  no  difference  in  my  disinclination  to  go,  in  a  blue- 
tg  way,  to  a  house  where  I  was  not  really  acquainted  with  any- 

Mr.  Hallam,  I  saw,  thought  me  conceited  and  saucy :  but  I 
must  take  my  own  methods  of  preserving  my  social  inde- 
ce.  Lord  Lansdowne  would  not  give  the  matter  up.  Finding 
-eneral  Fox  was  coming  one  evening  to  a  soiree  of  mine,  he 
.  himself  to  dine  with  him,  in  order  to  accompany  him.  I 
it  this  somewhat  impertinent,  while  Mr.  Hallam  regarded  it  as 
our.  I  did  not  see  why  a  nobleman  and  Cabinet  Minister  was 
ntitled  than  any  other  gentleman  to  present  himself  iminvited^ 
lis  own  invitations  had  been  declined.  The  incident  was  a 
but  it  shows  how  I  acted  in  regard  to  this  "  lionising." ' 

nge  that  she  did  not  see  the  precise  application  to  herself 
story  told  by  Johnson  of  Congreve,  who,  *  when  he  received 
from  Voltaire,  disg^ted  him  by  the  despicable  foppery 
iring  to  be  considered,  not  as  an  author,  but  a  gentleman : 
ch  the  Frenchman  replied,  *^  that  if  he  had  only  been  a 
man,  he  should  not  have  come  to  visit  him." ' 
what  capacity  was  she  originally  invited  to  Hallam's^ 
m's,  Sydney  Smith's,  or  Rogers'?  If  she  had  steadily 
upon  her  principle,  she  must  have  gone  back  to  Norwich  as 
\  stranger  to  persons  of  intellectual  distinction  as  she  came 
Tiis  over-sensitive  dignity  was  not  true  dignity.  There  was^ 
i  of  vulgarity  about  it,  as  there  was  a  dash  of  snobbery  in 
Cray's  frequent  references  to  snobs.  The  thoroughbred 
of  social  equality  was  wanting.  Her  notion  of  equality 
)led  that  of  the  Irishman  who,  on  his  friend's  remarking 

*  Gould  Hallam  have  told  her  this,  which  was  certainly  not  true? 

that 


508  Harriet  Martineau!s  Autobiography. 

that  one  man  was  as  good  as  another,  emphaticallj  dissented: 
^  Yes,  and  a  deuced  deal  better.'     If  Lord  Lansdowne  came  un- 
invited to  her  house,  it  obviously  was  because  her  alleged  reason 
for  refusing  his  invitations  never  crossed  his  mind.     If  she  had 
accepted  them,  instead  of  finding  herself  in  a  house  where  she 
was  not  really  acquainted  with  anybody,  she  would  have  found 
herself  (as  Hallam  could  have  told  her)  amongst  the  most  dit- 
tinguished  of  her  acquaintance,  attracted  round  the  noble  host 
far  more  by  his  unaffected  sympathy  and  congenial  taste  than 
by  his  rank.     '  He  looks,'  wrote  Sydney  Smith,  *  for  talents  and 
qualities  amongst  all  ranks  of  men,  and  adds  them  to  his  stock 
of  society  as  a  botanist  does  his  plants ;  and  whilst  other  aristo- 
crats are  yawning  amongst  Stars  and  Garters,  Lansdowne  is 
refreshing  his  soul  with  the  fancy  and  genius  which  he  bas 
found  in  odd  places  and  gathered  to  the  marbles  and  pictures  of 
his  palaces.     1  shall  take  care  of  him  in  my  Memoirs.'    Miss 
Martineau  has  certainly  taken  care  of  him  in  hers. 

Lord  Londonderry,  naturally  enough,  began  talking  to  Miss 
Edgeworth  about  *  Castle  Rack-rent'  and  Ireland.  Tnis,  from 
Miss  Martineau's  point  of  view,  was  wrong.  It  was  treating 
her  like  a  blue-stocking,  to  begin  by  alluding  to  her  works  or 
the  subjects  on  which  she  was  employed.  Speaking  of  the 
Whig  dinners,  which  she  found  so  pleasant  in  her  first  season, 
she  says : — 

'  My  place  was  generally  between  some  one  of  the  notabilities  and 
some  rising  barrister.  From  the  latter  I  could  seldom  gather  much, 
60  bent  were  uU  the  rising  barristers  I  met  on  knowing  my  views  on 
"  the  progress  of  education  and  the  increase  of  crime."  I  was  so 
weary  of  tiiat  eternal  question  that  it  was  a  drawback  on  the  pleasnie 
of  many  a  dinner-party.' 

It  is  new  to  us  that  the  rising  barrister  was  so  much  in  vogue 
at  the  pleasantest  Whig  dinners  of  1832,  i.e.  if  dinners  so 
composed  were  the  pleasantest ;  and  we  do  not  envy  him  the 
distinction  of  having  to  find  light  topics  adapted  to  an  ea^ 
trumpet.  Of  Holman,  the  blind  traveller,  who  was  boasting  of 
having  reached  the  top  of  a  mountain  sooner  than  his  comrades, 
she  says: — *It  evidently  never  occurred  to  him  that  people 
with  eyes  climb  mountains  for  another  purpose  than  a  race 
against  time ;  and  that  his  comrades  were  pausing  to  look  about 
them  when  he  outstripped  them.  It  was  a  hint  to  me  never  to 
be  critical  in  like  manner  about  the  pleasures  of  the  ear.' 

Unluckily  she  did  not  take  the  hint,  or  she  would  not  have 

complained    of  being    made   the   object  of  marked  attention. 

What  was  optional  towards  others,  was  obligatory  towards  her. 

When  not  individually  addressed,  she  was  insulated.    She  conid 

not 


Harriet  Martineau^s  Autobiography,  509 

not  blend  carelessly  and  easily  with  conversation.  She  could  not 
catch  the  playful  tone,  the  evanescent  spirit,  the  allusive  raillery 
or  pleasantry,  which  are  its  charm.  She  could  not  say  with 
Sydney  Smith,  when  an  introduction  was  proposed:  *  Don't 
inocnlate  me,  let  me  take  him  in  the  natural  way.'  The  suitor 
for  her  acquaintance  had  to  be  formally  brought  up  and  pre- 
sented ;  and  there  was  something  appalling  in  her  preparations 
for  colloquial  enjoyment.  At  one  time,  besides  the  large  trumpet, 
the  had  one  with  a  caoutchouc  tube,  long  enough  to  be  passed 
across  the  dinner-table,  winding  like  a  serpent  amongst  the 
dishes.  The  operation  was  jocularly  termed  Maying  down 
the  pipes.'  The  interchange  of  mind  thus  effected  could  hardly 
be  called  conversation :  it  was  dialogue,  or  monologue,  under 
di£Bcultie8.     She  herself  talked  pleasantly  and  well. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  enjoyed  being  lionised.  So  did  Lord 
Macaulay.  Miss  Martineau  admits  that  it  has  its  advantages 
in  enabling  the  lion  to  form  valuable  acquaintances  and  esta- 
blish a  connexion ;  but  he  must  hasten  to  make  hay  whilst  the 
sun  shines,  the  odds  being  that,  at  the  end  of  his  first  season,  he 
will  be  dropped. 

*  Such  reverse  may  be  the  best  thing  to  be  hoped ;  but  it  does  not 
leave  things  as  they  were  before  the  season  of  flattery  set  in.  The 
safe  feeling  of  eqniJity  is  gone ;  habits  of  industry  are  impaired ;  the 
delicacj  of  modesty  is  exhaled ;  and  it  is  a  great  wonder  if  the  temper 
is  not  spoiled.  The  sense  of  elevation  is  followed  by  a  oonscionsness 
of  depression :  those  who  have  been  the  idols  of  society  feel,  when 
deposed,  like  its  slaves;  and  the  natural  consequence  is  contempt 
and  repining.' 

A  little  farther  on,  after  stating  that  ^  the  Whig  dinners  of 
that  day  (her  first  season)  were  at  their  highest  point  of  agree- 
ableness' — ^the  rising  barrister  non  obstante^  she  says  that,  on 
returning  to  London  some  years  later,  she  found  a  melancholy 
change. 

*  I  found  some  who  had  formerly  been  ''  pleasant  fellows "  and 
agreeable  ladies,  now  saying  the  same  things  in  much  the  same  manner 
aa  of  old,  only  with  more  conceit  and  contempt  of  every  body  but 
themselves.  Their  pride  of  station  and  office  had  swelled  into 
vnlgarity ;  and  their  blindness  in  regard  to  public  opinion  and  the 
progress  of  all  the  world  but  themselves  was  more  wonderful  than 
ever.' 

Yet  Lansdowne  House,  Holland  House,  Devonshire  House, 
Stafford  House,  were  in  their  zenith  ;  and  the  Whigs,  whom 
pride  of  station  and  office  had  swelled  into  vulgarity,  must 
have   included   Lord   Grey,  Lord   Russell,   Lord  Lansdowne, 

Lord 


510  .  Harriet  MartineauCs  Autobiography. 

Lord  Normanby,  Lord  Althorp,  Lord  Carlisle,  Lord  Melbourne, 
Lord  Palmerston,  and  Lord  Clarendon. 

How  did  this  come  to  pass?  We  cannot  help  suspecting 
that  the  change  was  more  subjective  than  objective :  that  it  was 
in  her,  not  in  them  :  that  the  Whigs  had  found  out  their  mistake 
in  supposing  that  legislation  could  be  based  on  story-books ;  and 
that  (to  use  her  own  words)  the  natural  consequence  in  the 
deposed  idol  was  repining  and  contempt. 

She  follows  up  and  supports  her  theory  of  lionising  by  imprei- 
sions  of  her  most  distinguished  acquaintance,  which  are  equally 
remarkable  for  discrimination  and  uncharitableness.  FriAklin 
mentions  a  gentleman  who,  having  one  handsome  and  one 
shrivelled  leg,  was  wont  to  test  the  disposition  of  a  new 
acquaintance  by  observing  whether  he  looked  first  or  most  at 
the  best  or  worst  leg.  Miss  Martineau  had  a  disagreeable 
knack  of  looking  first  and  most  at  the  worst  leg,  especially 
when  the  candidate  for  her  favour  had  put  his  best  leg  foremost 
Brougham,  who  laid  himself  out  to  please  her,  utterly  failed. 

'  He  watched  me  intently  and  incessantly  when  I  was  conveniog 
with  any  body  else.  For  my  part,  I  liked  to  watch  him  when  he  was 
conversing  with  gentlemen,  and  his  mind  and  its  manifestations  lesllj 
came  out.  This  was  never  the  case,  as  fskr  as  my  observation  wen^ 
when  he  talked  with  ladies.  I  believe  I  have  never  met  with  mon 
than  three  men,  in  the  whole  course  of  my  experience,  who  talked 
with  women  in  a  perfectly  natural  manner ;  that  is,  precisely  as  thej 
talked  with  men :  but  the  difference  in  Brougham's  case  was  so  great 
as  to  be  disagreeable.  He  knew  many  cultivated  and  intellectoal 
women ;  but  this  seemed  to  be  of  no  effect.  If  not  able  to  sesome 
with  them  his  ordinary  manner  towards  silly  women,  he  was  awkwazd 
and  at  a  loss.  This  was  by  no  means  agreeable,  though  the  sin  of 
his  bad  manners  must  be  laid  at  the  door  of  the  vain  women  iHu) 
discarded  their  ladyhood  for  his  sake,  went  miles  to  see  ^^^^  were 
early  on  platforms  where  he  was  to  be,  and  admitted  him  to  yeiy 
broad  flirtations.  He  bad  pretty  nearly  settled  his  own  business,  in 
regard  to  conversation  with  ladies,  before  two  more  years  were  oyer. 
His  swearing  became  so  incessant,  and  the  occasional  indecencjef 
his  talk  BO  insufferable,  that  I  have  seen  even  coquettes  and  adorers 
turn  pale,  and  the  lady  of  the  house  tell  her  husband  that  she  oonld 
not  undergo  another  dinner  party  with  Lord  Brougham  for  a  guest' 

This,  to  our  certain  knowledge,  is  a  gross  exaggeration. 
In  marked  contrast  to  Brougham  in  her  estimate  stands 
Lord  Durham,  the  pink  of  kindness,  gentleness,  temper  and 
amiability,  and  the  pattern  of  high-minded  statesmen.  When 
she  was  '  giving  him  evidence  of  the  popular  distrust  of  Lord 
Brougham  and  his  teaching  and  jyreaching  clique,'  he  heard  her 
with  evident  concern,  and  said  at  last,  in  his  earnest,  heartfelt 

waj, 


Harriet  MartineaiCs  Autobiography.  511 

ay,  ^  Brougham  has  done,  and  will  do,  foolish  things  enough ; 
lit  it  would  cut  me  to  the  heart  to  think  that  Brougham  was 
\se.^  ^  In  seven  years  from  that  time  he  was  in  his  grave,  sent 
lere  by  Brougham's  falseness.'  Did  these  intervening  years 
ftss  away  without  inspiring  the  smallest  distrust  of  Brougham  ? 
ord  Durham  died  in  1840,  and  Brougham  was  never  in  office 
ierl834. 

There  is  little  new  in  her  reminiscences  of  Hallam  and 
jrdney  Smith.  She  says,  *  The  story  of  Jeffrey  and  the  North 
ole  as  told  by  Sydney  Smith,  appears  to  me  strangely  spoiled 
I  the  Life.'  It  appears  to  us  better  told  than  by  her.  She 
its  off  Jeffrey's  manner  to  women,  apropos  of  a  scene  in  which 
s  is  monopolised  by  a  lady  whose  admirers  thought  more  of 
er  personal  attractions  than  her  publications. 

*  He  could  be  absurd  enough  in  his  devotion  to  a  clever  woman ; 
ad  he  could  be  highly  culpable  in  drawing  out  the  vanity  of  a  vain 
ae,  and  then  comically  making  game  of  it ;  but  his  better  nature  was 
Iways  within  call ;  and  his  generosity  was  unimpeachable  in  every 
^er  respect — as  far  as  I  knew  him.' 

She  was  hard  upon  the  bishops  who  ventured  amongst  the 
lue-stockings : — 

'  There  were  a  few  bishops ; — Whately,  with  his  odd,  overbearing 
laimers,  and  his  unequal  conversation,— sometimes  rude  and  tiresome, 
nd  at  other  times  full  of  instruction,  and  an  occasional  drollery 
oming  out  amidst  a  world  of  effort.  Perhaps  no  person  of  all  my 
cquaintance  has  from  the  first  appeared  to  me  so  singularly  over- 
ated  as  he  was  then.  I  believe  it  is  hardly  so  now.  Those  were 
he  days  when  he  said  a  candid  thing  which  did  him  honour.  He 
ms  quite  a  new  bishop  then ;  and  he  said  one  day,  plucking  at  his 
leeve,  as  if  he  had  his  lawn  ones  on,  *'  I  don't  know  how  it  is  :  but 
rhen  we  have  got  these  things  on,  we  never  do  any  thing  more."  ' 

She  has  left  a  portrait  of  the  amiable  and  excellent  Bishop 
f  Norwich,  Dr.  Stanley,  so  disfigured  by  sectarian  or  pro- 
incial  animosity  that  it  will  hardly  be  recognised  l^  those 
fho  knew  him  personally  or  have  become  familiar  with  his 
areer  and  character  in  the  truthful  pages  of  his  distinguished 
on.*  The  man  who  is  there  shown  to  have  given  the  most 
.ecided  proofs  of  courage,  moral  and  physical,  in  confronting 
»r^adice,  suppressing  vice,  putting  down  brutal  amusements 
na  facing  Chartist  mobs,  is  described  by  her  as  *  timid  as  a 
lare,  sensitive  as  a  woman.' 

'  Bishop  Stanley  was,  however,  admirable  in  his  way.    If  he  had 


^  '  Memoir,'  by  the  Dean  of  Weatminster,  prefixed  to  '  AddrcBsee  and  Ohaiges/ 
851. 

been 


512  Harriet  MartineavCs  Autobiography. 

been  a  rural  parish  priest  all  hifi  life,  out  of  the  way  of  diasenten 
and  of  clerical  espionnage^  he  would  have  lived  and  died  as  beloved  m 
he  really  was,  and  much  more  respected.  In  Norwich,  his  care  and 
furtherance  of  the  schools  were  admirable;  and  in  the  fimctioiioC 
benevolence  to  the  poor  and  afflicted,  he  was  exemplary.' 

What  follows  is  introduced  with  a  but — 

'  I  do  not  like  your  hut — ^it  does  allay 
The  good  precedence ' 

'  But  censure  almost  broke  his  heart  and  turned  his  farain.  He  hid 
no  courage  at  all  under  the  bad  manners  of  his  clergy ;  and  he  re- 
peatedly talked  in  such  a  style  to  me  about  it,  as  to  compel  me  to  toll 
him  plainly  that  Dissenters  like  myself  are  not  only  aocustomed  to 
ill-usage  for  differences  of  opinion,  but  are  brought  up  to  legud 
that  trial  as  one  belonging  to  an  honest  avowal  of  convictions,  and  to 
be  borne  with  courage  and  patience  like  other  trials.  His  innocent 
amazement  and  consternation  at  being  ill  used  on  account  of  Ui 
liberal  opinions  were  truly  instructive  to  a  member  of  a  despised  seet: 
but  they  were  painful,  too.' 

This  is  tantamount  to  saying  that  bad  manners  and  ill-usage 
should  not  be  checked  or  censured,  because  the  sufferen  are 
thereby  subjected  to  an  improving  trial ;  and  that  to  sympathiie 
with  them  is  to  imply  that  they  are  unequal  to  it.  rainfol, 
forsooth!  It  is  infinitely  more  painful  to  see  such  a  perrene 
construction  of  conduct  and  motive.  The  courage  shown  bj 
the  Bishop  in  condemning  his  intolerant  clergy  is  adduced  to 
prove  that  he  had  none  1  ' 

She  does  ample  justice  to  the  poetic  genius  and  many  excel- 
lent qualities  of  Lord  Houghton,  who,  on  hearing  of  her  hope- 
less  condition   in    1842,    sent  her  some  lines   on    *  Christiaa 
Endurance!'  —  *the    lines   (says   Mrs.    Chapman)    which  IK* 
Channing  so  much  admired,  and  after  reading  which  he  bad^ 
her  be  glad  that  she  was  the  inciter  of  such  holy  thoughts  an^ 
generous  sympathies.'     They  were  followed  by  a  fine  sonnet  l^ 
the  same  spirit  in  1843.     She  made  his  acquaintance  at  Lad^ 
Mary  Shepherd's ;  a  house  to  which  she  never  went  a  second 
time  for  fear  of  being  pestered  by  blue-stockings.     First,  ther^ 
was  Lady  Mary  herself,  '  who  went  about  accompanied  by  tb-^ 
fame  given  her  by  Mr.  Tiemey,  when  he  said  there  was  nc^* 
another  head  in  England  that  could  encounter  hers  on  Cao^^ 
and  Effect'     Then  Lady  Charlotte  Bury,  for  whose  benefit  ab-^ 
underwent  a  '  ludicrous  examination  about  how  I  wrote  m^^ 
Series,  and  what  I  thought  of  it.'     Escaping  from  this  to  a-^^ 
opposite  sofa,  she  was  '  boarded '  by  Lady  Stepney,  who  was  tbe^*^ 
as  she  boasted,  receiving  seven  hundred  pounds  apiece  for  h^^ 

nord^ 


Harriet  MartineaiUs  AtUobiography.  513- 

novels,  and  paraded  a  pair  of  diamond  earrings,  costing  that 
stun,  which  she  had  so  earned.  Would  any  one  suppose  from 
this  that  Mr.  and  Lady  Mary  Shepherd  had  collected  round 
them  a  highly-cultivated  and  most  agreeable  society :  that  the- 
ladies  named  were  probably  the  only  blue-stockings  in  the 
room ;  and  that  kind,  amiable,  unassuming  Lady  Stepney,, 
although  she  wrote  some  foolish  novels,  was  the  last  person 
in  the  world  to  parade  her  earrings  as  the  price  ? — ^ 

*The  difficulty  in  conversing  with  this  extraordinary  personage- 
was  that  she  stopped  at  intervals,  to  demand  an  unqualified  assent  to 
what  she  said,  while  saying  things  impossible  to  assent  to.  She 
insiBted  on  my  believing  that  '*  that  dreadful  Beform  in  Parliament "' 
took  place  entirely  because  the  *'  dear  Duke  "  of  Wellington  had  not 
my  "  moral  courage,"  and  would  not  carry  a  trumpet.  She  told  me 
thai  the  dear  Duke  assured  her  himself  that  if  he  had  heard  what  had 
been  said  from  the  Treasury-benches,  he  should  never  have  made 
that  declaration  against  parliamentary  reform  which  brought  it  on : 
and  thence  it  followed,  Lady  Stepney  concluded,  that  if  he  had  heard 
what  was  said  behind  him, — that  is,  if  he  had  carried  a  trumpet,  he 
would  have  suppressed  his  declaration;  and  the  rest  followed  of 
course.  I  was  so  amused  at  this  that  I  told  Lady  Durham  of  it ;  and 
ahe  repeated  it  to  her  father,  then  Prime  Minister ;  and  then  ensued 
the  most  amusing  part  of  all.  Lord  Orey  did  not  apparently  take  it 
as  a  joke  on  my  part,  but  sent  me  word,  in  all  seriousness,  that  there 
wofold  have  been  parliamentary  reform,  sooner  or  later,  if  the  Duke 
of  Wellington  had  carried  a  trumpet  I ' 

It  is  our  firm  conviction,  knowing  Lady  Stepney  well,  that  the 
remark  about  the  *  moral  courage '  was  a  bit  of  comic  exaggera- 
tion on  her  part ;  and  we  feel  equally  sure  that  Lord  Grey's 
Aiessage  of  assurance  was  sent  by  way  of  carrying  on  the  joke. 
Tihcre  are  more  specimens  of  Lady  Stepney's  conversation, 
^&o  is  made  to  say  in  reference  to  the  alleged  discovery  of  the 
^A^^etic  Pole :  ^  But  you  and  I  know  what  a  magnet  is  very 
'U.  We  know  that  a  little  thing  like  that  would  be  pulled 
"^  of  its  place  in  the  middle  of  the  sea.'  We  ourselves  heard 
^  Duke  of  Sussex,  at  one  of  the  soiries  at  Kensington  Palace, 
^^n  he  was  President  of  the  Royal  Society,  address  a  group 
^^^orth  Pole  navigators :  *  How  do  you  do,  Franklin  ?  Glad 
you.  Parry.  Very  hot  here ;  more  like  the  South  Pole 
the  North.'  It  is  quite  possible,  therefore,  that  Lady 
^^ney  may  have  talked  nonsense  about  the  magnet,  but  Miss 
^^tineau  did  not  understand  persifUige  when  she  heard  it :  ta 
^^  through  a  tube  or  trumpet  is  no  laughing  matter;  the  look 
^^  accent  are  out  of  keeping  with  the  words.  When  Sydney 
A^ol.  143.— Ab.  286.  2  L  Smith 


514  Harriet  MartineauCs  Autobiography. 

Smith  was  asked  how  he  got  on  with  her,  he  replied, '  Very 
well ;  except  that  about  three  times  out  of  four  she  mistakes 
my  mystifications  for  facts.'  The  most  decidedly  *  blue '  pardes 
in  London  were  her  own. 

To  return  to  her  sketches.  She  disposes  of  a  whole  batch  of 
eminent  acquaintance  in  a  paragraph  or  two  : — 

*  I  had  heard  all  my  life  of  the  vanity  of  women  as  a  subject  d 
pity  to  men  :  but  when  I  went  to  London,  lo !  I  saw  vanity  in  high 
places  which  was  never  transcended  by  that  of  women  in  their  lowlier 
rank.  There  was  Brougham,  wincing  under  a  newspaper  criticiont 
and  playing  the  fool  among  silly  women.  There  was  JeSrej  flirtiog 
with  clever  women,  in  long  succession.  There  was  Bulwer  on  i 
sofSE^  sparkling  and  languishing  among  a  set  of  female  votaries,-— be 
and  they  dizened  out,  perfumed,  and  presenting  the  nearest  picture 
to  a  seraglio  to  be  seen  on  British  ground,— only  the  indifference  or 
hauteur  of  the  lord  of  the  harem  being  absent.  There  was  poor 
Campbell  the  poet,  obtruding  his  sentimentalities,  amidst  a  quivering 
apprehension  of  making  himself  ridiculous. 

*  *  *  «  «  * 

^  Then  there  was  Babbage, — less  utterly  dependent  on  opinion 
than  some  people  suppose ;  but  still,  harping  so  much  on  the  sabject 
as  to  warrant  the  severe  judgment  current  in  regard  to  his  vanity.-' 
There  was  Edwin  Landseer,  a  friendly  and  agreeable  companion,  bnt 
holding  his  cheerfulness  at  the  mercy  of  great  folks'  giaciousneflfl  to 
him.' 

If  she  had  revised  her  Autobiography  after  reading  Macauby* 
Life  by  his  nephew,  she  would  hardly  have  attributed  *thc 
fundamental  weakness  which  pervades  his  writings '  to  want  of 
heart ;  and  she  goes  much  too  far  when  she  says : 

'  His  review  articles,  and  especially  the  one  on  Bacon,  ought  to 
have  abolished  all  confidence  in  his  honesty,  as  well  as  in  his  capacity 
for  philosophy.' 

But  she  is  not  far  wrong  when  she  complains  of  the  difficultT 
thrown  in  the  way  of  reference  by  his  mode  of  citing  his  autho- 
rities : — 

'  Where  it  (reference)  is  made,  by  painstaking  readers,  the  inaoca- 
racies  and  misrepresentations  of  the  historian  are  found  to  mnltiplf 
as  the  work  of  verification  proceeds.  In  fact,  the  only  way  to  accept 
his  History  is  to  take  it  as  a  brilliant  fancypieoe, — wanting  not  only 
the  truth  but  the  repose  of  history, — but  stimulating,  and  even,  to 
a  degree,  suggestive.' 

We  have  no  fault  to  find  with  her  reminiscence  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Grote,  except  that  '  clever '  is  an  inadequate  expression, 

and 


Harriet  MartineatCs  Autobiography.  515 

d  ^with  all  imaginary  freedom'  must  not  be  understood  to 
san  more  than  vivacity,  comprehensiveness  and  variety. 

*  I  was  always  glad  to  meet  him  and  his  clever  wife,  who  were  fall, 
all  times,  of  capital  conversation  ;  she  with  all  imaginable  freedom ; 
d  he  with  a  curious,  formal,  old-fiB43hioned,  deliberate  courtesy,  with 
lich  he  strove  to  cover  his  constitutional  timidity  and  shyness. 
le  publication  of  his  fine  History  now  precludes  all  necessity  of 
scribing  his  powers  and  his  tastes.  He  was  best  known  in  those 
ys  as  the  leading  member  of  the  Radical  section  in  Parliament; 
d  few  could  suppose  then  that  his  claims  on  that  ground  would  be 
allowed  up  by  his  reputation  as  a  scholar  and  author  in  one  of  the 
Behest  walks  of  literature.  As  a  good  man  and  a  gentleman  his 
putation  was  always  of  the  highest' 

She  had  ample  opportunities  of  studying  Mr.  Carlyle  and 
ide  a  good  use  of  them,  although  she  begins  by  showing  her 
:»pacity  for  enjoying  the  Shakespearian  humour  which  is  the 
stinctive  quality  of  his  genius.  When  the  lease  of  his  house 
Cheyne  Row  had  nearly  expired,  he  was  obliged  (she  says)  to 
:  forth  ^  with  sanitary  views,  and  look  about  him  : — 

^  Forth  he  went,  his  wife  t<dd  me,  with  three  maps  of  Great  Britain 
1  two  of  the  World  in  his  pocket,  to  explore  the  area  within  twenty 
lea  of  London.' 

e  was  puzzled  for  a  long  time  as  to  whether  he  did  or  did  not 
re  for  fame ;  but  at  length  the  mystery  was  solved  : — 

'  My  friend  and  I  found  that  Carlyle  was  ordered  weak  brandy  and 
ier  instead  of  wine ;  and  we  spent  our  few  sovereigns  in  French 
Uidy  of  the  best  quality,  which  we  carried  over  one  evening,  when 
ing  to  tea.  Carlyle's  amusement  and  delight  at  first,  and  all  the 
aning  after,  whenever  he  turned  his  eyes  towards  the  long-necked 
ttles,  showed  us  that  we  had  made  a  good  choice.  He  declared 
iit  he  had  got  a  reward  for  his  labours  at  last :  and  his  wife  asked 
^  to  dinner,  all  by  myself,  to  taste  the  brandy.  We  three  sat 
Qiid  the  fire  after  dinner,  and  Carlyle  mixed  the  toddy  while 
rs.  Carlyle  and  I  discussed  some  literary  matters,  and  speculated 
L  fame  and  the  love  of  it.  Then  Carlyle  held  out  a  glass  of  his 
ixture  to  me  with,  '*  Here— take  this.  It  is  worth  all  the  &me  in 
ttgUnd."' 

The  following  verses  were  improvised  by  Johnson  in  ridicule 
f  the  antique  ballad  style  : — 

' "  Hermit  hoar,  in  solemn  cell. 
Wearing  out  life's  evening  gray. 
Smite  thy  bosom,  sage,  and  tell 
What  is  bliss,  and  which  the  way." 

2  L  2  Thus 


»  » 


516  Harriet  Martineau's  Autobiography. 

Thus  I  spoke,  and  speaking  sighed. 
Scarce  repressed  the  starting  tear. 
When  the  smiling  sage  replied, 
^  Come,  my  lad,  a^  drink  some  beer. 

Miss  Martineau  would  most  assuredly  have  understood  tlur 
efiusion  as  conveying  the  deliberate  opinion  of  the  sage  that 
beer  is  bliss  and  bliss  is  beer. 

After  expressing  an  opinion  that  Mr.  Carlyle  could  not  d(^ 
any  more  effectual  work  in  the  field  of  morals  or  philosophy) 
avowing  a  preference  for  his  biographies,  and  declaring  that 
for  her  part  she  could  not  read  his  ^  Latter  Day  Pamphlets,'  she 
says: — 

'No  one  can  read  his  '* Cromwell"  without  longing  for  Ub 
"  Frederick  the  Great ; "  and  I  hope  he  will  achieve  that  portnit, 
and  others  after  it.  However  much  or  little  he  may  yet  do,  he 
certainly  ought  to  be  recognised  as  one  of  the  chief  influences  of  hift 
time.  Bad  as  is  our  political  morality,  and  grievous  as  are  our  sociil 
short-comings,  we  are  at  least  awakened  to  a  sense  of  our  sins;  and 
I  cannot  but  ascribe  this  awakening  mainly  to  Carlyle.  What 
Wordsworth  did  for  poetry,  in  bringing  us  out  of  a  oonventioDal  idea 
and  method  to  a  true  and  simple  one,  Carlyle  has  done  for  morality.' 

We  admire  *  his  sincerity,  earnestness,  healthfulness,  and 
courage'  as  highly  as  any  of  his  disciples,  and  there  is  no 
denying  his  influence.  But  it  may  well  be  doubted  whether 
that  influence  has  been  for  evil  or  for  good.  Does  it  advance 
morality  to  idealise  power,  force,  strength  of  volition,  success— 
to  contend  that  might  makes  right — to  set  up  Cromwell  and 
Frederic  the  Great  as  models  for  rulers — to  defend  the  stupid 
brutality  of  Frederic  William  as  the  eccentricity  of  genius  ? 

*  Victrix  causa  Diis  placuit,  sod  victa  CatonL' 

'  And  more  true  joy  Marcellus  exiled  feels 
Than  Ceesar  with  a  senate  at  his  heels.' 

Mr.  Carlyle  would  have  agreed  with  the  gods  and  shouted 
with  the  Senate.* 

Longing  for  rest,  and  wishing  to  break  through  any  selfish 

*  MiB8  Martineau's  readers  would  do  well  to  oompare  her  impTessioDa  of 
Carlyle,  Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  and  many  others  with  those  of  a  less  prejodicea 
and  singularly  acute  judge  of  character,  contained  in  the  highly-interettiD^ 
work,  just  published,  entitled :  *  Bryan  Waller  Procter  (Barry  Cornwall).  An 
Autobiographical  Fragment  and  Biog^phical  Notes,  with  Personal  Sketches 
of  Contemporaries,  Unpublished  Lyrics,  and  Letters  of  Literary  Friend^; 
Wo  are  indebted  for  this  book  to  the  poet's  widow,  whose  acqniremeDts  and  colti- 
vated  taste  eminently  fitted  her  for  the  execution  of  what  she  terms  a  detf  ^ 

honourable  task.  .  ^ ,    , 

*  particularitj 


Harriet  MartineavCs  Autobiography.  517 

particularity'  that  might  be  growing  on  her,  she  resolved  at 
:be  end  of  her  third  season  to  visit  the  United  States.  It  was 
lot  a  bookmaking  expedition.  ^  I  can  truly  say  that  I  travelled 
without  any  such  idea  in  my  mind.  I  am  sure  that  no  traveller 
seeing  things  through  author's  spectacles  can  see  them  as  they 
are.'  However,  she  kept  a  journal  and  wrote  two  books,  based 
on  it,  on  her  return.  These  contain  what  she  had  to  say  about 
the  Great  Republic,  its  institutions  and  its  society  ;  but  one 
sabject  was  glossed  over  in  both — her  own  personal  connexion 
with  the  controversy  on  negro  slavery,  which  she  purposely  kept 
back  for  fear  of  creating  a  suspicion  of  partiality.  ^  In  this  place 
I  feel  it  right  to  tell  my  own  story.'  It  is  told  in  minute  detail, 
'filling  92  pages,  and  leaves  a  high  impression  of  her  courage, 
although   to   a   certain   extent   confirming   what    fell    from   a 

*  pompous  young  man '  at  New  York :  ^  My  verdict  is  that 
Harriet  Martineau  is  either  an  impertinent  meddler  in  our 
affairs,  or  a  woman  of  genius  without  common  sense.'  In 
defiance  of  warnings,  she  attended  a  Women's  Abolition  Meet- 
ing at  Boston  and  made  a  speech,  thereby  identifying  herself 
with  the  agitation  to  which  most  of  the  friends  who  fdted  (or 

*  Lafayetted ')  her  on  her  arrival  were  vehemently  opposed. 

*  In  our  own  room  at  Washington,  I  spread  out  our  large  map, 
showed  the  great  extent  of  Southern  States  through  which  we  should 
have  to  pass,  probably  for  the  most  part  without  an  escort;  and 
always,  where  we  were  known  at  all,  with  my  anti-slavery  reputation 
uppermost  in  everybody's  mind. — *'Now,  Louisa,"  said  I,  ''does  it 
not  look  awful  ?  11  yon  have  the  slightest  fear,  say  so  now,  and  we 
will  chanse  our  route." — ^  Not  the  slightest,"  said  Sh%.  ^  If  you  are 
not  afraid,  I  am  not"  This  was  all  she  ever  heard  from  me  of 
danger.' 

Sydney  Smith  had  jocularly  suggested  before  she  left  England 
that,  although  a  feather  in  her  cap  was  agreeable,  a  quantity  of 
feathers  sticking  to  her  back  might  prove  an  awkward  encum- 
brance ;  and  he  made  another  joke  on  the  probability  of  her 
joining  the  feathered  tribe,  which  she  did  not  hear  and  had 
better  be  suppressed.  She  saw  enough  to  show  that  the  danger 
i¥as  not  altogether  chimerical ;  being  present  in  Boston,  if  not 
witness  of  the  scene,  when  Mr.  Garrison  was  dragged  by  the 
mob  towards  the  tar-kettle,  whilst  his  lovely  wife,  more  lovely 
in  her  tears,  looked  on  from  a  balcony,  exclaiming,  ^  I  trust  in 
<jrod  he  will  not  give  up  his  principles ; '  which,  under  the 
circumstances,  was  pretty  nearly  tantamount  to  saying,  ^  I  trust 
in  God  he  will  be  tarred  and  feathered.'  She  was  absent 
rather  more  than  two  years.     On  landing  at  Liverpool,  August 

26th» 


518  Harriet  Martineav^s  Autobiography. 

26th,  1836,  she  found  various  letters  from  publishers  awaiting 
her ;  and  the  very  day  she  arrived  in  London,  the  competition 
began: 

'  One  November  morning,  however,  mj  return  was  annoimced  in 
the  "  Morning  Chronicle ; "  and  such  a  day  as  that  I  nerer  psa»d, 
and  hoped  at  the  time  never  to  pass  again. 

'  First,  Mr.  Bentley  bustled  down,  and  obtained  entrsnoe  to  my 
study  before  anybody  else.  Mr.  Colbum  came  next,  and  had  to  ^i 
He  bided  his  time  in  the  drawing-room.  In  a  few  minutes  sniTed 
Mr.  Saunders,  and  was  shown  into  my  mother's  parlour.  These 
gentlemen  were  all  notoriously  on  the  worst  terms  with  each  other; 
and  the  fear  was  that  they  should  meet  and  quarrel  on  the  stain* 
Some  friends  who  happened  to  call  at  the  time  were  beyond  m&dgm 
amused.' 

Dickens  used  to  relate  that  when  two  publishers,  formerly 
partners,  were  similarly  competing,  each  told  him  that  he  could 
hang  or  transport  the  other. 

She  closed  with  Messrs.  Saunders  and  Otley,  and  through  them 
became  acquainted  with  ^  one  of  the  tricks  of  the  trade '  which 
surprised  her  a  good  deal,  as  well  it  might. 

'  After  telling  me  the  day  of  publication,  and  announcing  that  my 
twenfy-five  copies  would  be  ready,  Mr.  Saunders  inquired  when  I 
should  Hke  to  come  to  their  hack  parlour,  ''  and  write  the  notes."— 
"  What  notes?  " — "  The  notes  for  the  Beviews,  you  know,  Ma'am." 
He  was  surprised  at  being  obliged  to  explain  that  authors  write  notes 
to  friends  and  acquaintances  connected  with  periodicals,  "  to  request 
favourable  notices  of  the  work."  I  did  not  haow  how  to  credit  this; 
and  Mr.  Saunders  was  amazed  that  I  had  never  heard  of  ii    "1 

assure  you,  Ma'am, does  it ;  and  all  our  authors  do  it.'* 

On  my  emphatically  declining,  he  replied,  ''As  you  please,  Ma'am: 
but  it  is  die  universal  practice,  I  believe."  I  have  always  been 
related  to  the  Eeviews  exactly  like  the  ordinary  public.  I  haye  neyer 
inquired  who  had  reviewed  me,  or  known  who  was  going  to  do  so, 
except  by  public  rumour.' 

Instead  of  taking  credit,  like  the  Pharisee,  for  being  unlike 
others.  Miss  Martineau  should  have  given  an  indignant  denial 
to  the  statement,  if  only  for  the  honour  of  the  craft  There  is* 
we  know  it  to  our  cost  and  say  it  to  our  sorrow,  a  good  deal  of 
unworthy  canvassing  through  friends  for  favourable  notices, 
but  the  general  or  universal  practice  mentioned  by  Mr.  Saunders, 
sounds  to  us  like  a  pure  invention  or  myth.  The  book  came 
out  under  the  title  of  '  Society  in  America.*  She  wished  io  call 
it  '  Theory  and  Practice  of  Society  in  America  ; '  which  would 
have  been  a  better  indication  of  its  quality  ;  most  of  the  chapters 

being" 


Harriet  Martineau!s  AtUobiography.  519 

being  rather  essays  on  legislation,  manners,  customs,  and  insti- 
tutions than  sketches  of  society.  She  frankly  admits  the  prin- 
cipal fault,  its  metaphysical  framework : — 

*  Again,  I  was  infected  to  a  certain  degree  with  the  American 
method  of  dissertation  or  preaching ;  and  I  was  also  full  of  Carlylism, 
like  the  friends  I  had  left  in  the  western  world.  So  that  my  book, 
while  most  carefiilly  tme  in  its  facts,  had  a  strong  leaning  towards 
ihe  American  fashion  of  theorising ;  and  it  was  far  more  useful  on 
ihe  other  side  of  the  Atlantic  than  on  this.' 

Although  taking  her  stand  on  the  American  point  of  view  and 
herself  republican  to  the  core,  she  commented  freely  on  the 
defects  of  the  federal  constitution,  and  did  not  spare  American 
vanity  or  self-love. 

*  A  fEur  lady  of  blue-stocking  Boston  said  of  'me  after  my  book 
appeared,  "  She  has  ate  of  our  bread  and  drunk  of  our  cup ;  and  she 
caUs  dear,  delightful,  intellectual  Boston  pedantic!"  on  which  a 
countryman  of  the  complainant  remarked,  "  If  she  thinks  Boston 
pedantic,  did  you  mean  to  bribe  her,  by  a  cup  of  tea,  not  to  say  so  ?  " ' 

She  sorely  wounded  the  susceptibilities  of  the  fair  sex  through- 
out the  whole  length  and  breadth  of  Yankee  land,  by  plainly 
telling  them  that  their  accent  was  a  material  drawback  to  their 
attractions.  They  certainly,  with  rare  exception,  did  and  do 
require  to  be  occasionally  reminded  of  Lear's  touching  tribute 
to  Cordelia. 

*  Her  voice  was  ever  soft, 
Qentle,  and  low ;  an  excellent  thing  in  woman.' 

Some  of  Miss  Martineau's  ^  wisest  friends  at  home,'  including 
Sydney  Smith  and  Carlyle,  offered  their  criticism  on  the  more 
abstract  American  book  in  the  pleasant  form  of  praise  of  the 
more  concrete  one,  the  '  Retrospect  of  Western  Travel.' 

'  Oarlyle  wrote  me  that  he  had  rather  read  of  Webster's  cavernous 
eyes  and  arm  under  his  coat-tail,  than  all  the  political  speculation 
that  a  cut-and-dried  system  could  suggest.' 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  she  called  Mr.  Carlyle's  attention  to 
the  motto  for  the  chapter  on  Washington  sent  her  by  Lord 
Holland  through  General  Fox  : — 

'  He  might  have  been  a  king 
But  that  he  understood 
How  much  it  was  a  meaner  thing 
To  be  unjustly  great  than  honourably  good.'* 

*  The  Duke  of  BQckingham  on  Fairfax. 

After 


^20  Harriet  MartineavCs  Autobiography. 

After  duly  considering  a  proposal  to  undertake  the  editonhip 
•of  an  Economical  Magazine,  she  rejected  it,  and  set  to  work  on 
a  regular  novel,  for  which  her  friends  told  her  she  had  a  special 
vocation.  She  must  have  had  her  misgivings,  for  the  could  never, 
she  says,  frame  a  plot  for  the  shortest  of  her  tales ;  and  she  was 
too  good  a  critic  not  to  know  that  no  novel  can  approximate  to 
excellence  without  a  plot,  although  so  many  admirable  writers 
have  managed  to  do  without  one.  A  perfect  plot  is  one  where 
each  incident  tells  on  the  denouement  or  catastrophe,  where 
each  character  more  or  less  influences  it,  where  the  interest  is 
suspended  to  the  end.  One  of  the  best  examples  is  ^Tom 
Jones.'  In  default  of  the  inventive  faculty,  she  fixed  upon  a 
story  of  actual  life :  the  story  of  a  gentleman  *  who  had  been 
cruelly  driven,  by  a  match-making  lady,  to  propose  to  the  sister 
of  the  woman  beloved,  on  private  information  that  the  elder  had 
lost  her  heart  to  him,  and  that  he  had  shown  her  attention 
enough  to  warrant  it.'  This  story  was  the  groundwork  of 
*  Deerbrook,'  a  novel  in  three  volumes,  which  came  out  in 
1839. 

'  I  was  not  uneasy  about  getting  my  novel  published.  On  May-daj) 
1888,  six  weeks  before  I  put  pen  to  paper,  I  received  a  note  from  a 
friend  who  announced  what  appeared  to  me  a  remarkable  &ct ;— that 
Mr.  Murray,  though  he  had  never  listened  to  an  application  to  publish 
s  novel  since  Scott's,  was  willing  to  enter  into  a  negotiation  for  mine. 
I  was  not  aware  then  how  strong  was  the  hold  on  the  public  mind 
which  *'  the  silver-fork  school "  had  gained ;  and  I  discovered  it  by 
Mr.  Murray's  refusal  at  last  to  publish  "  Deerbrook."  He  was  more 
than  civil ; — he  was  kind,  and,  1  believe,  sincere  in  his  regrets.  The 
execution  was  not  the  ground  of  refusal.  It  was,  as  I  had  afterwards 
reason  to  know,  the  scene  being  laid  in  middle  life.  I  do  not  know 
whether  it  is  true  that  Mr.  Lockhart  advised  Mr.  Murray  to  decline 
it ;  but  Mr.  Lockhart's  clique  gave  out  on  the  eve  of  pubQoation  that 
the  hero  was  an  apothecary.' 

Here  is  gobemoiLcherie  again.  Mr.  Murray  knew  full  well,  if 
Miss  Martmeau  did  not,  that  Hhe  silver-fork  school'  had  long 
l>efore  received  its  death-blow  from  Dickens.  The  suggested 
^ound  of  refusal  is  absurd.  The  hero  was  in  fact  a  surgeon, 
so  that  Mr.  Lockhart's  clique  (if  he  had  a  clique)  were  not  far 
wrong.  One  of  Theodore  Hook's  heroes  (and  Hook  was  the 
chief  founder  of  the  silver-fork  school)  is  the  son  of  a  surgeon 
and  man-midwife.  He  is  rapturously  expatiating  to  a  friend 
on  the  charms  of  a  fair  incognita  whom  he  had  saved  from  the 
consequences  of  an  accident  in  the  streets,  and  the  thrilling 
tone    in    which    she   had    addressed    him,    as    'My   deliverer'! 

'Most 


Harriet  MartineatCs  Autobiography,  521 

kf ost  likely/  dryly  remarks  the  friend,  ^  she  took  you  for  your 

then' 

Miss  M artineau  goes  on  to  state  (what  we  doubt)  that  Mr. 

urray  finally  regretted  his  decision ;  and  that  Mr.  Moxon,  to 

[lom,  by  Mr.  Rogers's  advice,  she  offered  it,  had  reason  to 

joice  in  it;  ^two  large  editions  having  been  long  exhausted 

id  the  work  being  still  (1855)  in  constant  demand.' 

To  keep  pace  with  Miss  Martineau  is  an  impossibility :  the 

uting  critic  toils  after  her  in  vain ;  the  wonder  is  how  her 

lysical  powers  bore  the  strain  so  long. 

*  The  fiery  spirit  working  out  its  way 
Fretted  the  puny  body  to  decay.' 

If  for  *  fiery'  and  *puny'  we  read  *  resolute'  and  *  sickly,' 
ryden's  couplet  fits  her  to  a  hair.    The  moral  of  Balzac's  ^  Peau 

Chagrin'  is  that  every  gratified  volition  or  unrestrained 
ipulse  more  or  less  shortens  life.  It  was  not  upon  the  cards 
St  Miss  Martinean's  intensity  of  will  could  go  on  taxing  mind 
ri  body  with  impunity,  and  soon  after  the  publication  of 
^eerbrook,'  in  the  very  act  of  meditating  ^The  Hour  and 
3  Man '  at  Venice  during  a  Continental  journey,  she  broke 
wn.  She  was  brought  home  by  easy  stages,  and  conveyed 
ttout  delay  to  Newcastle-upon-Tyne  to  be  under   the  care 

her  brother-in-law,  with  whom  she  remained  six  months, 
ci  then  removed  to  a  lodging  in  Tynemouth  overlooking  the 

*  On  the  Bofii  where  I  stretched  myself  after  my  drive  to  Tynemoutii, 
ihe  16th  of  March,  1840, 1  lay  for  nearly  five  years,  till  obedience 
a  newly-disoovered  law  of  nature  raised  me  up,  and  sent  me  forth 
bo  the  world  again,  for  another  ten  years  of  strenuous  work,  and 
most  undisturbed  peace  and  exgoyment  of  mind  and  heart.' 

Her  prolonged  illness  inspired  ^  Life  in  a  Sick-room,'  a  book 
hich  will  be  found  replete  with  all  kinds  of  comforting  sug- 
^stions  to  the  invalid  who  has  strength  of  mind  to  turn  it  to 
!Count.     The  key-note  is  given  in  the  first  sentence : — 

'The  sick-room  becomes  the  scene  of  intense  convictions,  and 
long  these,  none,  it  seems  to  me,  is  more  distinct  and  powerftQ  than 
ftt  of  the  permanent  nature  of  good,  and  the  transient  nature  of 
iL* 

She  finds  the  best  source  of  consolation  in  revealed  religion : 

'  Nothing  but  experience  can  convey  a  conception  of  the  intense 
dity  in  which  God  appears  supreme,  Christ  and  his  gospel  divine, 
1  holiness  the  one  aim  and  chief  good,  when  our  frame  is  refusing 

its 


522  Harriet  Martineau^s  Avtohiograpky. 

its  offices,  and  we  can  lay  hold  on  no  immediate  ontwaid  solaoe  tn^ 
snpport.' 

Unhappily,  this  was  little  more  than  a  passing  impulse;  and 
she  speedily  relapsed  into  her  habitual  frame  of  mind. 

Her  *  Letters  on  Mesmerism,'  giving  a  fdithful  accomit  of  ber 
cure,  exposed  her  to  a  torrent  of  misrepresentation  and  abuse. 
The  medical  profession  resented  her  getting  well  contrary  to  the 
rules  of  art  as  a  personal  injury.  Their  language  resembled 
that  of  the  doctor  in  the  *  Malade  Imaginaire ' ;  *  Un  attentat 
enorme  contre  la  medecine!  Un  crime  de  lese-facult^  qui 
ne  se  pent  assez  punir.'  Some  went  the  length  of  declaring  that 
she  had  been  a  '  malade  imaginaire '  all  along,  without  a  real 
malady  to  cure  : — 

'  Now  and  then  we  heard,  or  saw  in  the  newspapers,  that  I  iMf  a» 
ill  as  ever,  and  mourning  my  infatuation, — though  I  was  walking  fife 
or  seven  miles  at  a  time,  and  giving  eveiy  evidence  of  perfect  health* 
The  end  of  it  was  that  I  went  off  to  the  East, — into  the  depths  of 
Nubia,  and  traversing  Arabia  on  a  camel ;  and  then  the  doctors  said  I 
had  mever  been  ill ! ' 

In  her  *  Letters  on  Mesmerism '  she  was  hurried  by  her 
grateful  enthusiasm  into  giving  it  credit  for  miracles ;  such  as 
conferring  something  like  the  gift  of  tongues  upon  a  serrant- 
girl.  She  also  wrote  some  ill-judged  letters  on  *  Clairvoyance;* 
but  she  adopts  the  rational  view  of  spiritualism  : — 

'  An  eminent  literary  man  said  lately  that  ho  never  was  afraid  of 
dying  before ;  but  that  he  now  could  not  endure  the  idea  of  being 
summoned  by  students  of  spirit-rapping  to  talk  such  nonsense  as 
their  ghosts  are  made  to  do.  This  suggests  to  me  the  expediency  of 
declaring  my  conviction  that  if  any  such  students  should  think  fit  to 
summon  me,  when  I  am  gone  hence,  they  will  get  a  visit  from— not 
me, — but  the  ghosts  of  their  own  thoughts :  and  I  beg  beforehand  not 
to  be  considered  answerable  for  anything  that  may  be  revealed  under 
such  circumstances.  I  do  not  attempt  to  offer  any  explanation  of  that 
curious  class  of  phenomena,  but  I  do  confidently  deny  that  we  can  be 
justified  in  believing  that  Bacon,  Washington  and  other  wise  men  are 
the  speakers  of  the  trash  that  the  "  spiritual  circles  "  report  as  their 
revelations.' 

The  year  after  her  cure  she  formed  an  acquaintance,  which 
soon  ripened  into  intimacy,  with  Mr.  Atkinson,  a  gentleman  of 
independent  fortune  and  scientific  acquirements,  with  whom, 
towards  the  end  of  1847,  she  commenced  the  *  Correspondence 
which  appeared  in  1851  as  an  octavo  volume,  entitled  'Letters 
on  the  Laws  of  Man's  Nature  and  Development.'  The  per- 
vading 


Harriet  Martineau^s  AiUohiography.  523^ 

rading  doctrine  being  Materialism,  she  must  have  made  up  her 
mind  to  disapproval  or  condemnation  from  many  of  her  most 
valued  friends;  but  she  could  hardly  have  reckoned  on  the 
excessive  virulence  and  gross  misrepresentation  with  which  she 
was  encountered  by  the  organ  of  the  Unitarians,  whose  tenets 
she  had  repudiated,  or  that  her  brother,  the  Rev.  James  M ar> 
tineau,  would  volunteer  to  become  the  instrument  of  their 
animosity.  He  was  (she  says)  the  avowed  author  of  the  article 
in  the  *  Irrespective  Review'  headed  'Mesmeric  Atheism.'  The 
bare  heading  (she  protests)  was  a  cruel  calumny.  The  letters- 
had  nothing  to  do  with  mesmerism  ;  the  imputation  of  atheism 
is  indignantly  repelled ;  and  the  proper  tone  to  be  adopted 
towards  an  erring  sister  or  friend  was  taken  by  Lord  Houghton^ 
when  he  said:  'I  am  less  and  less  troubled  about  theories 
which  1  disapprove  when  adopted  by  the  good  and  true.  You 
can  hold  them,  and  hold  your  moral  judgment  and  sensibilities 
too.     You  are  unharmed  by  what  would  be  death  to  me.' 

In  1845  she  built,  for  500/.,  her  cottage  or  villa,  The  Knoll, 
at  Ambleside,  where  she  resided  the  remainder  of  her  life^. 
although  (she  says)  so  pestered  by  tourists  that  she  was  obliged 
to  let  it  during  the  months  of  July,  August,  and  September, 
when  they  swarmed  in  the  Lake-country.  Wordsworth  was  her 
near  neighbour,  and  she  records  some  curious  incidents  relating 
to  him: — 

*  When  you  have  a  visitor,'  said  he,  *  you  must  do  as  we  did ; — ^you 
must  say  "  if  you  like  to  have  a  oup  of  tea  with  us,  you  are  very 
welcome :  but  if  you  want  any  meat, — you  must  pay  for  your  board." 
Now,  promise  me  that  you  will  do  this.  Of  course,  I  could  promise 
nothing  of  the  sort.  I  told  him  I  had  rather  not  invite  my  friends 
unless  I  conld  mako  them  comfortable.  He  insisted:  I  declined 
promising ;  and  changed  the  subject' 

In  the  autumn  of  the  same  year,  1845,  she  wrote  three  volumes 
of  *  Forest  and  Game-Law  Tales,'  based  on  evidence  supplied  by 
Mr.  Bright.  They  proved  a  failure,  *  my  first  failure ; '  but 
they  did  not  destroy  the  belief  in  the  efficiency  of  her  mode  of 
writing.  In  1847,  she  was  earnestly  pressed  on  behalf  of  the 
leading  Italian  Liberals  to  take  up  her  abode  in  Milan  for  six 
months  or  a  year,  and  write  a  book  on  the  condition  of  Lom- 
bardy  under  Austrian  rule.  In  reference  to  this  proposal,  she 
states  that  a  similar  one  had  been  made  to  her  to  visit  Sweden, 
and  that  O'Connell  (about  1839)  had  applied  to  her  'to  study 
Irish  affairs  on  the  spot,  and  report  upon  them.'  In  1846,. 
finding  that  a  misunderstanding  between  Sir  Robert  Peel  and 
Cobden  was  likely  to  delay  the  repeal  of  the  Com  Laws,  she 

took 


^524  Harriet  Martineau!s  Aviobiography. 

took  the  bold  step  of  writing  to  Sir  Robert  (with  whom  she  was 
not  acquainted)  and  brought  about  the  cordial  co-opeiation  of 

the  two. 

'  Turn  her  to  any  chord  of  policy 
The  Gordian  knot  of  it  she  will  unloose 
Familiar  as  her  garter/ 

She  converted  her  paddock  at  Ambleside  into  a  miniature 
farm,  which  served  as  a  model  to  agriculturists ;  and  her  cottage 
and  grounds  were  called  a  ',  perfect  poem '  by  the  visitors.  She 
was  really  an  excellent  manager,  and  by  all  accounts  a  moft 
agreeable  hostess. 

Early  in  1846  she  joined  a  party  of  friends  in  a  journey  to  the 
East,  which  supplied  the  materials  for  ^  Eastern  Life,  Past  and 
Present,'  published  in  1848.  This  book  must  speak  for  itself. 
So  must  her  'History  of  England  during  the  Thirty  Yean* 
Peace'  (1816-1846),  and  many  other  publications,  great  and 
^mall,  including  an  abridged  translation  (highly  commended 
by  Mr.  Grote)  of  Comte's  *  Positive  Philosophy '  and  a  volume 
•of  '  Biographical  Sketches '  reprinted  from  the  ^  Daily  News,' 
for  which  she  wrote  '  leaders '  regularly  during  several  years. 

Startling  as  was  the  amount  of  literary  labour  which  she 
undertook,  she  left  nothing  unfinished  or  incomplete.  She 
viras  not  a  superficial  writer :  neither  was  she  an  original 
one.  Her  strength  lay  in  mastering  and  diffusing  knowledge; 
and  her  style,  although  wanting  in  g^ce  and  finish,  was 
admirably  fitted  for  her  purposes,  being  idiomatic,  animated, 
sufficiently  coloured,  and  pellucidly  clear.  As  soon  as  she  had 
thought  out  her  subject,  she  took  the  first  words  that  offered, 
troubled  herself  little  about  polishing,  and  made  no  fair  copi^ 
Scott  and  Dumas  adopted  the  same  method.  Mr.  Carlyle,  she 
says,  erred  on  the  side  of  fastidiousness.  '  Almost  every  word 
viras  altered,  and  revise  followed  revise.'  Burke,  we  may  add, 
was  the  terror  of  printers ;  and  Balzac  spent  a  fortune  upon 
-corrections  in  his  proofs. 

The  publishers  must  have  made  a  good  thing  of  her  if  her 
writings  were  as  much  in  request  as  she  supposes ;  for  she 
says  that  her  literary  earnings,  during  her  twenty-five  years 
•of  authorship,  little  exceeded  ten  thousand  pounds.  This  is 
not  a  tithe  of  what  Edward  Lord  Lytton  and  Dickens  are  each 
reported  to  have  made. 

From  motives  of  independence  which  do  her  honour,  she  had 

declined  a  pension  when  offered  by  Lord   Melbourne ;  and  in 

reply  to  the  renewed  offer  by  Mr.  Gladstone,  in  June,  1873,  she 

writes  : — 

«Tho 


Harriet  Martineau^s  Autobiography.  525» 

^  The  work  of  my  busy  years  has  supplied  the  needs  and  desires  o£ 
it  quiet  old  age.  Chi  the  former  occasions  of  my  declining  a  pension 
I  was  poor,  and  it  was  a  case  of  scruple  (possibly  cowardice).  Now 
I  have  a  competence  and  there  would  be  no  excuse  for  my  touching 
the  public  money/ 

Her  last  sustained  literary  effort  was  the  composition  of  the 
Autobiography,  after  she  had  been  distinctly  warned  (in  1854} 
that  her  complaint  was  mortal,  and  that  she  might  die  at  any 
moment.  The  circumstances  under  which  it  was  composed 
will  be  held  a  fair  apology  for  any  failure  or  confusion  of 
memory  which  it  betrays.  But  she  maintained  much  of  her 
intellectual  vigour  to  the  last,  and  occasionally  resumed  her  pen 
to  promote  causes,  like  the  abolition  of  slavery,  in  which  she 
felt  a  special  interest.  She  died  on  the  27th  of  June,  1876.  On 
May  19th  she  writes  to  Mr.  Atkinson : — 

*  I  see  everything  in  the  universe  go  out  and  disappear,  and  I  see 
no  reason  for  supposing  that  it  is  not  an  actual  and  entire  death — and 
for  my  part,  I  have  no  objection  to  such  an  extinction.  I  well  re- 
member the  passion  with  which  W.  E.  Forster  said  to  me,  '*  I  had 
rather  be  damned  than  annihilated.**  If  he  once  felt  five  minutes'' 
damnation,  he  would  be  thankful  for  extinction  in  preference.' 

It  is  clear,  therefore,  that  she  contemplated  death  then  as  she 
contemplated  it  in  1855,  when  she  was  concluding  her  biography 
and  wrote  thus : — 

*  Night  after  night  I  have  known  that  I  am  mortally  ilL  I  have 
tried  to  conceive,  with  the  help  of  the  sensations  of  my  sinking-fits, 
the  act  of  dying,  and  its  attendant  feelings ;  and,  thus  far,  I  have 
always  gone  to  sleep  in  the  middle  of  it  And  this  is  after  really 
knowing  something  about  it ;  for  I  have  been  frequently  in  extreme 
danger  of  immediate  death  within  the  last  five  months,  and  have  felt 
as  if  I  were  dying,  and  should  never  draw  another  breath.  Under 
this  dose  experience,  I  find  death  in  prospect  the  simplest  thing  in 
the  world, — a  thing  not  to  be  feared  or  regretted,  or  to  get  excited 
about  in  any  way.  I  attribute  this  very  much,  however,  to  the  nature 
of  my  views  of  death.  The  case  must  be  much  otherwise  with 
Christians,—- even  independently  of  the  selfish  and  perturbing  emotions 
connected  with  an  expectation  of  rewards  and  punishments  in  the 
next  world.  They  can  never  be  quite  secure  from  the  danger  that 
their  air-built  castle  shall  dissolve  at  the  last  moment,  and  that  they 
may  vividly  perceive  on  what  imperfect  evidence  and  delusive  grounds 
their  expectation  of  immortality  or  resurrection  reposes.' 

This  is  widely  different  from  the  view  she  expressed  in  ^  Life 
in  a  Sick-room ' ;  and  if  the  case  is  to  be  stated  at  all,  it  should 
be  fairly  stated.     The  comparison  should  be  between  persona 

equally 


526  The  Balance  of  Power. 

■equally  fixed  or  equally  unfixed  in  their  respective  belief  or 
unbelief.  The  sincere  Christian  is  entirely  free  from  selfish  and 
perturbing  emotions,  is  quite  secure  in  his  own  mind  that  his 
castle,  instead  of  being  air-built,  is  built  upon  a  rock.  Was 
Addison  selfish  or  perturbed  when  he  told  his  pupil  that  he  had 
sent  for  him  to  see  how  a  Christian  could  die  ?  Surely  no  candid 
inquirer,  with  or  without  faith,  will  deny  its  ineffable  comfort, 
its  elevating,  purifying,  beatifying  influence,  upon  a  death-bed. 
It  does  more  than  soften  or  subdue  pain,  suffering,  fears,  regrets. 
It  comes  with  more  than  healing  on  its  wings.  As  the  mortal 
coil  drops  off,  it  anticipates  the  life  to  come,  and  fixes  the  fading 
dickering  gaze  on  the  brightest  visions  of  immortality — 

*  They  who  watch  by  him,  see  not,  but  he  sees, 
Sees  and  exalts — Were  ever  dreams  like  these  ? 
They  who  watch  by  him,  hear  not,  but  he  hears, 
And  Earth  recedes,  and  Heaven  itself  appears  I '  * 


Art.  VIII. — 1.  Le  Droit  International  Codijie.  Par  M.  Bluatschli, 
Docteur  en  Droit,  Professeur  Ordinaire  a  I'Univenite 
d'Heidelberg,  &c.  Traduit  de  I'Allemand  par  M.  C.  Lardy* 
Paris,  1870. 

2.  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  International  Law,  By  Theodore 
D.  Woolsey,  President  of  Yale  College.  Second  Edition. 
New  York,  1869. 

IT  is  high  time  that  an  effort  should  be  made  to  recover 
for  the  old  and  famous  expression,  '  Balance  of  Power,* 
something  of  its  proper  force  and  significance.  There  appears, 
during  the  last  twenty  years,  to  have  been  a  sort  of  general  con- 
spiracy amongst  us  to  assign  an  erroneous  meaning  to  this  phrase, 
and  then  to  set  it  up  as  a  sort  of  scarecrow,  a  target  for  abase 
and  obloquy.  If  it  was  a  mere  phrase,  this  would  be  a  matter 
of  no  consequence ;  but  it  is  perfectly  well  understood  that  the 
words  have  a  very  substantial  meaning,  that  they  mean  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  the  principle  that  Great  Britain  has  rights 
and  duties  in  reference  to  her  Continental  neighbours,  which 
may  at  any  moment  demand  her  interposition  with  all  the  force 
she  can  command.  To  evade  this  contingent  duty ;  to  assert 
the  isolation  of  this  country  from  the  affairs  of  the  Continent; 

♦  Bogere,  *  Human  Life.'     The  leading  thought  is  borrowed  firam  *  The  Vyiog 
Chrijstian  to  his  Soul/  of  Pope. 

to 


The  Balance  of  Power.  527 

surround  the  pursuits  of  commerce  and  civilisation  with  a 
liiant  atmosphere  of  philanthropy,  to  the  exclusion  of  the 
m  responsibilities  which  our  nation  has  incurred  in  the 
irse  of  the  ages  during  which  she  has  built  up  her  grand 
lition ;  to  spread  the  selfish  doctrine-— dear  to  Ethelred  the 
ireadj  just  nine  hundred  years  ago — of  peace-at-any-price, 
s  is  in  many  cases  the  avowed,  in  many  more  the  un- 
>wed  but  prevailing,  principle  of  what  we  are  ashamed  to 
ifess  is  a  large  and  increasing  section  of  the  intelligent  and 
luential  classes  in  our  country.  As  these  ideas  are  not  likely 
find  general  acceptance  when  plainly  stated,  the  usual  course 
to  take  advantage  of  a  certain  unpopularity  which  the  term 
lance  of  Power  has  acquired,  mainly  in  consequence  of  the 
use  of  the  principle  in  the  last' century,  and  by  treating  it  as  an 
solete  idea,  a  relic  of  barbarous  times,  the  old  bugbear  from 
ich  this  enlightened  age  has  fortunately  been  delivered,  to 
^er  it  with  contempt,  and,  under  the  shelter  of  this  repudiation, 
proclaim  the  advent  of  a  new  foreign  policy  worthy  of  the 
leteenth  century. 

It  would  not  be  difficult  to  quote  scores  of  passages  from 
pular  writers  in  illustration  of  this  method  of  proceeding ; 
t  Mr.  Lowe,  in  a  speech  he  made  last  autumn  at  Croydon,* 
ly  be  taken  as  a  fair  representative  of  these  views.  In  de- 
uncing  the  past  policy  of  Great  Britain  in  the  East,  he 
plains  our  conduct  by  deducing  it  from 

lat  tradition  which  has  been  the  pest  of  Europe.  It  was  called 
6  balance  of  power.  According  to  that  tradition,  when  one 
tion  was  more  powerful  than  the  others,  it  was  the  duty  of  the 
vstB  to  combine  together  and  pull  that  nation  down,  till  they 
luoed  it  to  an  equality  with  them;  so  that  Etirope  was  always 
Tified  by  some  bugbear  or  other.  And  in  order  to  prevent  these 
aginary  dangers,  torrents  of  blood,  infinitely  more  than  would  have 
3n  necessary  to  meet  them  if  they  had  occurred,  have  been  use- 
sly  and  wantonly  spilled.  First,  the  bugbear  was  the  House  of 
iBtria ;  then,  when  that  was  pulled  down,  it  was  France ;  and  when 
ance  was  reduced  to  a  low  condition,  all  the  terrors  of  Europe 
itred  upon  Bussia,  and  everything  had  to  be  done  to  prevent  her 
>gre8s  and  development.  In  pursuit  of  this  narrow  and  foolish 
licy,  for  such  I  have  always  thought  it,  we  took  up  the  Turk.' 

Now  it  is  perfectly  true  that  if  the  balance  of  power  really 
^ant  this,  really  meant  a  policy  of  interference  with  the  pro- 
>S8  and  development  of  other  States — we  must  suppose  a  legi- 
late  progress  and  development, '  Sic  utere  tuo  ut  alienum  non 

*  •  Times,*  September  18, 1876. 

laedas'— 


528  The  Balance  of  Power. 

Isedas ' — if  it  meant  that,  whatever  changes  may  take  place  firom  ' 
generation  to  generation,  it  is  the  duty  of  each  State  to  take 
care  that  none  becomes  more  powerful  than  others,  all  to  lemtin 
in  statu  quo^  such  a  doctrine  might  well  deserve  to  be  lepiobated. 
But  this  is  not  the  balance  of  power;  this  is  not  what  was 
ever  meant  by  it  Under  its  name  some  shameful  transacdont 
have,  indeed,  taken  place ;  and  a  sort  of  cant  use  of  the  phraie 
may  have  prevailed  at  one  time  or  another,  not  far  lemoTed 
from  that  asserted  by  Mr.  Lowe.  But  we  shall  attempt  to  ihow 
that  the  principle,  on  which  Great  Britain  has  acted  for  three 
centuries,  has  been  a  just  and  noble  recognition  of  her  datj  m 
preventing  Spain,  Austria,  France,  and  Russia,  from  becoming 
the  robbers  and  tyrants  of  Europe ;  and  in  so  doing  that  she 
has  fought  on  the  Continent  the  battles  which  would  otherwise 
have  certainly  deluged  her  own  shores  with  blood,  and  perhaps 
destroyed  her  independence ;  that  her  principle  of  balance  has 
been  only  another  name  for  self-defence,  or  rather  for  seU- 
preservation  ;  and,  further,  that  no  system  of  independent  States 
ever  has  existed,  or  ever  can  exist,  without  adopting  some  sadi 
principle.  If  Mr.  Lowe  and  his  brother  theorists  assnme, 
without  proof,  that  they  can  claim  the  sanction  of  history  for 
their  doctrine,  we  must  plead  that  excuse  for  passing  in  renew 
some  well-known  passages  of  the  past,  which  it  might  be 
thought  hardly  required  to  be  brought  once  more  to  the  front 
And  we  shall  show  that,  however  it  may  suit  this  school  to 
proclaim  the  death  and  burial  of  the  doctrine  of  the  balance  of 
power,  their  dogmatism  is  repudiated  by  authorities  to  which 
even  they  cannot  refuse  to  pay  respect,  if  not  deference. 

Not  that  such  a  controversy  can  be  decided  by  an  appeal  to 
International  Law.  Without  disparaging  for  a  moment  the  sei^ 
vices  rendered  to  modem  times  by  the  advance  of  this  science, 
if,  indeed,  that  term  may  be  permitted,  we  cannot  foi^t  that 
it  builds  up  its  fabric  on  authority,  and  measures  the  cogencj 
of  its  statements  by  their  general  acceptance;  so  that  it  is 
always  open  to  fresh  generations  of  men  to  pronounce  that 
times  have  changed  and  authorities  become  antiquated.  It 
looks  to  foundations  laid  in  law,  to  treaties,  precedents,  and 
formal  expressions.  The  appeal  really  lies  to  something  deeper 
and  more  permanent, — we  hardly  like  to  call  it  the  phUosophj 
of  the  subject, — but  to  the  reason  of  mankind,  the  causes  and 
consequences  of  war  and  peace,  the  effect  on  nations  of  this 
conduct  or  of  that,  the  history  of  the  civilised  world.  Such  a 
conspectus,  which  must  in  this  place  be,  of  course,  exceedinglj 
brief,  will  raise  the  principle  of  the  balance  of  power  to  a  posi- 
tion far  beyond  that  of  a  mere  invention  or  artificial  system  of 

a  particular 


The  Balance  of  Poicer.  529 

a  particular  period,  and  will  enable  us  to  judge  how  far  a 
transient  abuse  ought  to  weigh  against  permanent  and  legiti- 
odate  usefulness.  It  need  hardly  be  premised  that  such  a  method 
takes  for  granted  the  identity  of  human  nature  in  all  time, 
rhere  is  no  reason  to  believe  that,  however  the  softening  in- 
luences  of  civilisation  and  religion  may  affect  mankind  for  the 
letter,  the  causes  of  war  and  disturbance  will  ever  cease  to 
)perate.  Recent  experiences  certainly  do  not  tend  to  lead  us 
A  that  direction. 

We  begin  with  ancient  history;  and  here  we  must  simply 
mention  a  fact  or  two,  and  leave  the  rest  to  the  judgment  of  the 
reader.  A  balance  of  power  can  only  exist  in  the  midst  of  a 
system  or  cluster  of  free  and  independent  communities,  and  of 
mch  systems  we  have  but  one  ancient .  instance  of  which  we 
know  enough  to  be  of  any  use  in  this  inquiry.  They  must 
necessarily  be  exceptional  in  ancient  times.  Their  existence  is 
uialogous  to  that  of  Constitutional  Governments.  Such  Govem- 
siMits  only  exist  in  any  healthy  condition  where  a  people  have 
worked  them  out  through  a  process  of  resistance  to  domestic  or 
foreign  tyrants — monarchical,  oligarchical,  or  democratic,  lay  or 
ecclesiastical.  In  the  same  way  a  system  of  free  and  independent 
States  can  only  exist  after  having  gone  through  a  similar 
process;  and  the  Hellenic  communities  afford  the  one  typical 
instance  of  such  a  system.  Their  history  is  never  out  of  date  ;  it 
may  well  be  used  for  the  lessons  of  to-day.  Their  close  juxta- 
position made  it  impossible  for  them  to  avoid,  if  they  would, 
the  recognition  of  the  principle  of  balance ;  and  we  need  not 
stop  to  point  out  and  enforce  what  may  be  learnt  from  their 
ultimate  neglect  of  it.  Hume,  in  his  once  well-known  Essay 
on  this  subject,  has  drawn  attention  to  the  speeches  of  Demos- 
thenes, as  conveying  in  words  the  very  doctrine  which  Europe 
has  in  modem  times  formulated.  He  might  have  quoted  every 
page  of  Hellenic  history  as  evidence  of  its  inherent  necessity. 
And  surely  we  may  admit  that  the  periodical  struggles  of  Athens 
and  Sparta,  of  Thebes  and  Argos  and  Corinth,  were  better  a 
thousand  times  than  the  dreary  weight  of  Persian  or  Mace- 
donian tyranny,  or  the  political  extinction  which  ensued  upon 
the  Roman  absorption  of  a  conquered  world. 

'  Better  fifty  years  of  Europe  than  a  cycle  of  Oathay.* 

We  have  to  pass  over  centuries  before  we  can  find  another 
Greece.  The  voice  of  freedom  was  dumb.  There  is  no  balance 
of  power  to  be  found  under  Rome,  though  the  Teutonic  tribes 
and  the  Parthians  exercised  a  wholesome  check  on  its  too  rapid 
development.     It  did  its  appointed  work ;  it  spread  the  ferti- 

Vol.  143.— iVb.  286.  2  M  li»ing 


530  The  Balance  of  Power. 

Using  influences  of  Greek  and  Italian  civilisation,  and  theK' 
of  Christianity,  over  vast  families  of  men  ;  and,  finally,  fell  to 
pieces  by  its  own  weight.  Rome  had  prepared  society  for  the 
growth  of  nationalities ;  but  for  some  ages  yet  these  were  too 
feeble,  too  barbarous  to  dream  of  any  common  principle  of 
action.  It  is  not  till  after  the  Empire  had  been  resuscitated 
under  Charlemagne,  and  once  more  fallen  to  pieces,  that  we- 
begin  to  trace  some  signs  of  such  a  principle.  As  France, 
Italy,  Germany,  and  the  Burgundies  struggle  with  one  another 
for  boundary-lines  and  independent  life ;  as  the  feudal  system 
gradually  infuses  the  political  principles  of  inherent  rights,  and 
the  duty  of  lawful  resistance  to  invasion  of  rights;  as  the 
Crusades  deliver  their  legacy  of  mutual  obligations  and  united 
action  ;  as  the  Papal  support  of  Imperialism— r useful  in  its  daj 
— decays  amidst  the  contempt  of  men,  the  principle  gathen 
force.  In  two  distinct  and  yet  connected  quarters  it  even 
acquires  in  the  later  Middle  Ag^s  some  sort  of  form  and  lecog^ 
nition.  In  Germany  and  in  Italy  the  numerous  principalities 
into  which  those  countries  were  broken  up,  the  numerous  divi- 
sions of  race  and  family  of  which  they  were  composed,  neoes> 
sitated  the  adoption  of  a  system  of  balance  not  altogether  wanting 
in  scientific  completeness.  The  Popes  themselves,  in  playing 
off  Germany  against  Italy,  in  pitting  France,  or  the  Sicilian 
Normans,  against  Germany,  had  been,  in  fact,  all  through  the 
Middle  Ages,  teaching  the  lessoit.  England  and  Spain,  as  the 
Middle  Ages  draw  to  a  close,  begin  to  assert  their  share  in  the 
affairs  of  the  European  family  ;  and  the  Councils  of  the  fifteenth 
century  bring  the  nations  of  Western  Europe,  by  representation, 
to  a  single  spot  for  a  common  object. 

At  length  the  time  arrives  when  Central  and  Western  Europe 
presents,  on  a  larger  scale,  the  very  same  picture  which  the 
States  of  Greece  had  presented  so  many  ages  before.  We  have 
now  at  last  a  community,  and  yet  a  mass  of  independent  com- 
munities, bound  together  by  many  ties,  and  yet  separate  and 
distinct  in  a  thousand  ways.  Nationalities  are  now  formed, 
rounded  and  complete,  each  with  a  history  of  its  own,  in 
England,  France,  Spain,  and  Germany ;  each  and  all  swelling 
with  the  impulses  of  the  Renaissance  and  the  Reformation; 
each  producing  its  statesmen  and  men  of  letters  and  works  of 
art ;  each  organising  more  or  less  completely  its  international 
along  with  its  national  life.  In  the  pages  of  Philippe  de  Com- 
mincs  we  learn  how  these  international  ties  were  interweaving 
themselves,  even  in  the  fifteenth  century,  with  every  political 
act  in  Western  Europe.  In  Italy  we  find  the  Popes,  no  longer 
now  the  rivals  of  Emperors,  but  reduced  to  the  level  of  petty 

Italian' 


The  Balance  of  Power.  531 

Italian  princes,  applying  themselves  consciously  and  systemati- 
cally  to  the  task  of  exercising  their  old  functions  within  their 
narrower  limits.  Their  policy  was  expressed  by  Paul  IV. 
under  the  fig^e  of  a  musical  instrument  with  five  stringy 
which  required  to  be  kept  in  perfect  harmony  if  the  peace  of 
Italy  and  the  world  were  to  be  preserved.  The  five  strings 
were  the  Papacy^  Venice,  Naples,  Milan,  and  Florence.  But 
Venice  may  be  held  to  have  preceded  the  Popes  in  international 
science,  as  we  may  gather  from  the  luminous  reports  of  their 
agents  in  our  own  and  other  Courts ;  and  it  was  to  Venice  that 
the  astute  Louis  XI.  turned  for  instructors  in  politics.  Nor 
were  the  fellow-citizens  of  M achiavelli,  with  their  wide-reaching 
commercial  transactions  in  every  State,  behind  their  neigh- 
bours. 

Hence  when  with  the  opening  of  the  sixteenth  century  the 
old  story  is  repeated,  when  a  fresh  Persia,  a  fresh  Macedonia,  a 
fresh  Rome,  attempts  to  enslave  a  fresh  Greece,  Europe  is  in  a 
state  of  preparation  to  resist  Universal  monarchy  rears  i\fi 
head  once  more  in  the  person  of  Charles  V.  In  the  shifting 
phases  of  the  resistance  which  he  encountered,  we  discover  a 
method  and  a  system  which  accustoms  men  to  the  scientific 
treatment  of  international  politics  as  we  now  know  the  science, 
and  establishes  the  doctrine  of  the  balance  of  power  as  the  funda- 
mental principle  of  free  national  existence.  The  successors  to 
the  place  and  plans  of  the  mighty  Charles,  his  son  Philip, 
Louis  XIV.,  and  the  first  Napoleon,  illustrate  and  exemplify 
the  lesson  that  the  doctrine  having  once  been  formulated  and 
accepted,  can  never  again  be  expunged  from  the  book  of  political 
life. 

Up  to  this  time,  however,  if  we  may  pursue  the  metaphor  of 
Paul  IV.,  the  notes  of  international  harmony  had  been  but  the 
prelude,  the  ^  brisk  awakening  notes,'  to  some  elaborate  air 
which  is  to  be  repeated  with  a  thousand  variations,  and  now  to 
vibrate  throughout  the  world.  Religion  had  not  yet  intervened, 
as  the  predestined  element  about  to  infuse  an  earnestness,  a 
depth,  and  a  variety,  into  the  international  system,  which  mere 
politics  failed  to  afford.  The  Popes  were,  indeed,  the  accre- 
dited religious  chiefs  ;  but  they  had  used  their  influence  either 
ibr  their  own  purposes  to  balance  States  against  one  another, 
or,  in  later  times,  for  the  nobler  object  of  the  liberation  of  Italy ; 
and  this  over  peoples  professing  the  same  religion.  The  Euro* 
pean  balance  of  power,  as  we  have  known  it  since  those  times, 
at  least  for  two  centuries,  hinged  quite  as  much  on  religious  as 
on  political  considerations,  if  not  more;    and   even   in  quite 

2  M  2  modem 


532  The  Balance  of  Power. 

modem  times  the  religious  question  has  carried  great  weight  in 
European  combinations.  In  man's  imperfect  state  of  existence 
religion  was  to  bring  only  partial  and  relative  peace ;  to  the 
world  in  general  it  was  to  be  '  not  peace^  but  a  sword.'  ^  Wan 
and  rumours  of  wars '  must  arise  from  the  strife  of  ambition ;  bat 
when  that  ambition  is  winged  with  the  supposed  sanctions  of 
religion,  and  every  passion  is  intensified  in  the  furnace  of 
theological  bitterness,  we  may  well  hail  the  development  of  a 
principle  which  appeals  to  the  profound  instincts  of  freedom 
and  self-preservation  as  a  beneficent  counterpoise.  We  may 
well  ask  the  question, — What  would  Europe  have  been  had  not 
its  education  and  its  progress  been  controlled  by  these  instincts? 

The  revolt  from  the  Papacy,  which  we  call  the  Reformation, 
struck  the  key-note.  Men's  minds  became  accustomed  to  the 
idea  of  religious  as  well  as  political  independence.  Europe 
would  neither  be  dominated  by  the  Papacy,  nor  by  a  secular 
prince,  especially  when  he  represented  the  predominance  of  the 
religious  system  which  had  received  such  a  tremendous  shock. 
The  danger  was  imminent.  Charles  V.  had  come  into  such  a 
vast  inheritance  and  exhibited  such  a  marvellous  capacity  for 
domination,  that  the  infant  nations  found  themselves  in  the 
presence  ojf  a  monster  which  they  must  strangle  at  once,  or 
perish.  They  accepted  the  issue  and  prevailed.  His  seat  is  in 
the  old  Imperial  centres;  he  makes  and  conquers  Popes;  he 
reduces  to  obedience  refractory  German  princes,  destroys  the 
liberties  of  Spain,  crushes  the  privileges  of  the  Netherlands, 
combines  the  wealth  of  inherited  grandeur  with  the  products  of 
the  industrial  centres  of  the  age,  the  Old  World  with  the  New. 
Nor  can  he  be  said  to  have  neglected  the  duties  of  such  a 
position.  He  held  himself  responsible  for  the  preservation  of 
Europe  from  the  Mahomedans.  He  led  his  own  fleets  against 
the  growing  navies  of  the  common  enemy.  He  attempted  the 
settlement  of  the  Reformation,  insisted  on  the  convocation  of 
Church  Councils,  made  what  he  considered  just  concessions  to 
the  Protestants ;  and,  having  so  done,  claimed  a  right  to  force 
his  compromise  on  all  alike.  It  was  a  grand  conception,  a 
profound  failure. 

It  was  not  only  that  Charles  had  to  deal  with  a  new  order  of 
ideas,  the  force  of  which  it  was  difficult  for  a  contemporary  to 
measure ;  two  Powers,  whose  significance  the  great  ruler  had 
wholly  failed  to  take  into  account,  had  now  appeared  on  the 
stage — the  Turks  and  the  Protestant  princes  of  Germany.  With 
all  his  sagacious  statecraft  he  never,  during  his  whole  reign» 
understood  how  powerful  was  the  advantage  thus  given  to  his 
natural  antagonists — the  King  of  France,  the  Pope  (as  a  secular 

Prince), 


The  Balance  of  Power,  533 

^rince)^  and  the  Italian  States.  It  had  never  been  dreamt  of 
lat  a  Christian  Government  should  use  the  Mahometan  intruder 
s  an  agent  in  effecting  the  balance  of  power;  and  yet  the 
stablishment  of  the  Ottoman  Empire  was  a  solemn  fact  which 
>uld  no  longer  be  ignored.  Christian  Europe  had  stood 
imely  by  and  seen  it  rear  itself,  slowly  but  irremovably,  oa 
le  ruins  of  the  Byzantine  Empire.  It  had  stolen  into  Europe 
t  the  weak  moment  when  Imperialism  was  in  decay  and 
ationalities  not  yet  organized ;  but  the  followers  of  the  false 
'rophet  had  now  as  good  a  right  as  another — the  right  of  con- 
uest.  How  could  they  be  left  out  of  political  combinations, 
Lther  as  friends  or  foes?  And  that  the  Protestant  States  of 
rermany  had,  by  the  mere  fact  of  their  Protestantism,  made  the 
Impire  an  anachronism,  an  impossibility,  this  was  a  discovery 
rhich,  in  fact,  produced  the  abdication  of  the  mighty  monarch. 
7he  Peace  of  Augsburg,  coming  immediately  after  his  dis- 
omfiture  at  Innspruck,  convinced  him  that  his  life-long,  labo- 
ious  work  had  failed.  German  Protestantism  was  beyond  the 
each  of  interference;  the  Turks  were  in  possession  of  the 
xeater  part  of  Hungary ;  even  France  had  wrested  from  him 
4etz,  Toul,  and  Verdun.  There  was  nothing  left  but  to  save 
be  wreck — a  splendid  wreck,  but  not  the  world ;  not  unity  of 
lith,  however  hollow ;  and  this  task  must  be  left  to  another, 
lis  own  work  was  over. 

It  was  France  that  had  been  the  main  agent  in  dispelling  hia 
reams.  By  force  and  fraud,  by  a  dexterous  use  of  the  new 
*owers — allying  herself  now  with  the  Turks,  now  with  the 
h*otestant  princes — she  at  last  saw  the  work  accomplished  to 
rhich,  for  more  than  a  generation,  she  had  devoted  herself ;  and 
lough  we  may  account  for  particular  campaigns  by  special 
onsiderations,  her  persistent  hostility  was  really  due  to  the 
nerring  instinct  of  self-preservation.  Her  north-eastern  frontier 
^as  intolerably  menaced  by  the  aggrandisement  of  the  lord  of 
alf  the  world,  with  his  centre  fixed  in  Germany  and  the  Nether- 
inds.  Such  a  Power,  unchecked  and  unbalanced,  was  too  near 
le  vitals  of  France  for  safe  neighbourhood.  Necessity  was  the 
nly  justification  for  the  ever-shifting  alliances  which  did  her 
ime  no  credit. 

Thus  religious  energy — political  necessity — ^presided  over  the 
Higgle  with  which  modem  European  history  begins.  Genera- 
ons  grew  up  accustomed  to  the  operation  of  these  forces  in 
alancing  the  States  of  Europe.  But  the  reduction  of  the  prin- 
[pie  to  a  scientific  system  is  the  debt  Europe  owes,  not  tx> 
Tance,  but  to  England ;  not  to  Francis  I.  or  Henry  VIII., 
rhose  vain  and  capricious  interferences  between  France  and  the 

Empire 


534  The  Balance  of  Power. 

Empire  have  been  sometimes  treated  as  if  they  had  been  the 
first  conscious  and  effective  efforts  to  balance  the  Powers  of 
Europe,  but  to  the  great  Queen  Elizabeth  and  her  able  band 
of  ministers.  This  may  be  gathered,  not  only  from  a  review  of 
her  policy,  but  from  indications  in  Sully's  *  Memoirs.*  In  the 
prolonged  duel  between  Elizabeth  and  Philip  IL  the  victory 
was  given  to  the  champion  of  freedom  and  Protestantism,  armed 
with  the  weapons  afforded  by  the  general  sense  entertained  of 
the  need  of  a  balance  of  power. 

This  crisis  was  even  more  terrible  than  the  last.  Without 
the  vast  and  extended  dominions  of  Charles  V.,  Philip  presented 
himself  to  the  world  of  the  sixteenth  century  as  a  far  more 
deadly  and  ferocious  enemy  to  the  sacred  cause  of  libertj. 
Unwearied,  unchanging,  unscrupulous,  he  was  the  incarnation 
of  the  worst  form  of  tyranny  which  had  yet  appeared  through  all 
the  ages.  He  exhibited  the  corruptio  optimi  in  its  extreme 
development,  the  spectacle  of  sincere  religious  zeal,  armed  with 
ability  and  vast  military  resources,  displaying  itself  in  the  forms 
of  wholesale  murder,  torture,  rapine,  slavery,  organised  assassina- 
tion. Against  this  terrible  foe  the  Dutch,  to  their  everlasting 
honour,  being  the  people  more  immediately  concerned,  threw 
themselves  into  the  breach ;  but  it  was  England  which  guided 
the  mighty  conflict  for  the  space  of  half  a  century,  and  brought 
it  to  a  successful  issue.  By  systematically  playing  o^  one 
against  the  other,  the  two  great  Powers,  whose  combination  the 
world  had  then  to  fear,  Elizabeth  and  her  ministers  saved  not 
only  England  but  the  world.  Her  home  policy  was  the  basis  of 
her  foreign  policy.  To  sum  it  up  in  a  sentence  it  was  this— to 
isolate  Scotland  from  Continental  alliances,  and  pave  the  waj 
for  its  union  with  England  ;  to  introduce  English  law  and 
order  into  the  Irish  chaos ;  to  foster  the  social  and  commercial 
prosperity  of  England.  In  short,  Elizabeth  may  be  said  suh* 
stantially  to  have  made  Great  Britain  what  it  is.  Abroad,  her 
policy  was  to  prevent  Protestantism,  albeit  not  the  form  of  it 
which  she  approved,  from  being  crushed  on  the  Continent,  to 
prevent  a  coalition  of  the  Papal  Powers  on  the  religious  basis 
which  Philip,  the  Popes,  and  the  French  League,  were  for  ever 
attempting  to  lay  down  ;  to  destroy  the  overwhelming  influence 
of  the  prime  mover  of  European  politics — the  Spanish  despot- 
weaving  from  his  office  his  spider-web ;  to  do  just  as  much  as 
was  necessary  for  these  purposes  and  no  more  ;  this  also  suc- 
ceeded. She  left  Europe  balanced.  The  spell  which  had  so 
long  hung  around  the  House  of  Austria  had  been — at  anj  rate 
for  the  time — dissolved.  Philip,  like  his  father,  died  broken- 
hearted at  the  failure  of  all  his  schemes;  the  German  branch  of 

bis 


The  Balance  of  Power.  535 

IS  House  had  found  its  interest  in  withdrawing  itself  from  the 
&in  of  Western  Europe,  and  in  strengthening  itself  against 
le  Turks.  The  unity  of  France,  on  the  basis  of  toleration,  had 
sen  accomplished  under  Elizabeth's  auspices.  The  Dutch  had 
rtnally  established  their  independence,  aided  in  no  small 
tgtee  bj  the  naval  warfare  which  England  had  waged  against 
e  forces  of  their  oppressor.  Spain  had  at  length  discovered  its 
iherent  weakness,  and  took  up  henceforth  a  secondary  place  in 
e  affairs  of  the  world. 

Here,  then,  was  the  first  indisputable  result  of  a  direct  and 
»nscious  application  of  the  new  and  jet  ancient  principle  of 
>litical  action.  The  tyranny  of  the  great  Romanist  Powers, 
hich  had  been  continuously  striving  ever  since  the  Reformation 
win  back  by  force  of  arms  the  position  they  had  lost,  having 
!en  effectually  checked  for  several  years,  the  community  of 
itions  gained  breathing-time.  A  general  public  opinion  was 
rmed.  The  way  was  prepared  for  an  organised  resistance  to 
e  next  attempt  which  was  made  to  interfere  with  national 
\A  religious  independence^  that  great  high-water  mark  of  Jesuit 
^gressiveness,  that  concluding  Act  of  the  drama  of  the  Re- 
nnation — the  Thirty  Years'  War.  We  need  not  dwell  upon 
e  marvellous  development  of  abounding,  vigorous  life  which 
irang  forth  during  the  war  with  Spain  as  the  natural  fruit  of 
berty  in  every  nation  which  had  acted  a  noble  part  in  the 
niggle.  Who  shall  say  that  there  was  one  war  too  much,  one 
fe  wasted,  to  secure  such  liberty,  such  progress?  It  was  no 
onder  that  the  doctrine  of  the  bsdance  of  power  became  rooted 
.  the  European  mind.  It  was  not  for  the  mere  pleasure  of 
illing  down  to  a  common  level  this  high-placed  potentate  or 
lat.  What  view  of  European  combinations  can  be  more 
»surd  I  The  leagues  of  the  oppressed  could  alone  arrest  the 
olence  of  the  oppressor.  Experience  taught  men  that  they 
ould  combine  to  prevent,  if  possible,  rather  than  go  through 
e  agony  of  curing,  the  evil.  Political  foresight,  far-seeing 
xnestness,  and  self-sacrifice  took  the  place  of  stupid  indiffer- 
ice,  and  ignoble  cowardice.  The  more  sagacious  political 
inds  of  Europe  took  account  of  the  gains  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
ry,  and  began  to  formulate  the  lessons  which  it  had  taught, 
he  reign  of  Public  Law  had  commenced. 

The  seventeenth  century  witnessed  the  withdrawal  of  Great 
ritain  from  its  place  as  the  teacher  of  international  politics  to 
urope.  If  the  modem  school  represented  by  Mr.  Lowe  and 
T.  Bright  insist  on  the  reversal  of  the  course  pursued  under 
lizabeth,  Cromwell,  William  and  Mary,  Anne,  and  her  suc- 
cessors, 


536  The  Balance  of  Power. 

cessorSy  thej  are  bound  to  state  whether  they  approve  of 
the  peace-policy  of  those  disastrous  Stuart  reigns  which  hu 
been  hitherto  condemned  by  acclamation.  In  the  appeal  to* 
history  we  cannot — to  use  the  homely  proverb— eat  our  cake 
and  have  our  cake.  If  Great  Britain  and  the  world  derived 
any  advantage  from  the  feeble  policy  which  drew  this  countiy 
out  of  the  balance  of  forces  employed  in  the  Thirty  Years'  War, 
or  from  the  isolation  produced  by  the  shameful  concurrence  of 
Charles  II.  and  James  II.  in  Louis  XIV.'s  career  of  aggrandise- 
ment and  spoliation,  let  it  be  proved.  That  policy  was  in 
very  deed  peace-at-any-price.  Half  the  disasters  which  the 
world  suffered  then,  and  has  suffered  ever  since,  may  be  con- 
sidered as  the  price.  But  into  this  we  need  scarcely  enter 
here.  If  anything  may  be  taken  as  ruled,  this  must  certainly 
be  so  taken. 

The  great  political  minds  of  Europe  during  the  first  half  of  the 
seventeenth  century  were  those  of  Sully,  Henry  IV.,  Richeliea 
and  Mazarin.  These  were,  indeed,  all  French,  but  they  weve 
in  reality  the  pupils  of  Elizabeth,  and  took  up  the  place  vacated 
by  her  feeble  successors.  Under  them  France  directed  the 
struggle  of  the  nations,  concluded  at  last  by  the  great  Peace  of 
Westphalia.  We  should,  of  course,  be  entirely  wrong  if  we  were- 
to  credit  these  men,  any  more  than  Francis  or  Elizabeth,  with  a 
pure,  unselfish  regard  for  the  welfare  of  Europe.  All  human 
motives  are  mixed.  It  was  the  interest  and  advantage  of  France 
— torn  to  pieces  as  she  had  been  by  religious  wars,  and  for  two 
generations  unable  to  take  a  leading  part  against  the  House  of 
Austria — which  chiefly  actuated  these  men ;  but  they  worked 
on  a  system  which  justified  their  acts ;  they  planned  for  the 
whole  community  of  Europe.  It  is  remarkable  and  suggestive 
that  just  as  Great  Britain  forfeited  her  place  in  this  centurj  as 
teacher  and  leader  in  Europe,  so  France,  after  having  sustained 
and  confirmed  the  public  law  for  so  many  years,  was  destined 
to  exhibit,  in  the  later  part  of  the  century,  the  picture  of  the- 
very  evil  which  she  had,  in  the  earlier  part,  devoted  herself 
to  cure.  After  speaking  by  the  politic  lips  of  Sully,  Henry  IV., 
and  Richelieu,  she  becomes  the  scarecrow  of  Europe  under 
Louis  XIV.  After  that  is  once  more  to  come  the  required 
teaching  from  the  more  worthy  successors  of  Elizabeth. 

The  celebrated  scheme  connected  with  the  name  of  Henry  IV. 
has  only  accidentally  become  the  property  of  France.  Sully « 
*  Memoirs  '  plainly  show  that  Elizabeth,  and  probably  her 
ministers,  had  formed  precisely  the  same  ideas,  which  were  the 
result  of  the  struggles  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  the  commoa 
property  of  the  leading  minds  of  the  age,  though  the  executioa 

of 


The  Balance  of  Power,  537 

r  them  was  reserved  for  the  suhtle  and  unscrupulous  Richelieu. 
[t  was  a  saying  of  Elizabeth,'  says  Sully,  ^  that  nothing  could 
"sist  the  union  of  France,  England,  Sweden,  and  Denmark, 
hen  in  strict  alliance  with  each  other.'*  That  Venice,  the 
rst  instructress  of  France  in  scientific  politics,  should  be  the 
rst  to  welcome  the  recovery  of  that  great  nation  after  so  long 
prostration,  the  first  to  recognise  Henry  IV.,  is  what  we  might 
cpect.  Perhaps,  as  the  whole  principle  of  the  balance  of  power 
i  now  attacked,  not  only  in  its  modem  application,  but  as  to 
s  essential  wisdom,  it  may  not  be  inopportune  to  quote  once 
lore  the  famous  passage  in  which  Sully  expounds  his  mar- 
sUously  advanced  ideas  of  what  ought  to  be  the  standing 
3licy  of  France  and  Europe.  It  has  long  been  the  text 
f  wise  statesmen,  and  preceded  the  more  scientific  and 
Mlantic  forms  of  International  Law.  It  has  lost  none  of  its 
gnificance : — 

*  France  can  no  more  depend  on  the  English  than  on  any  of  her 
her  neighhonrs ;  her  true  interest  and  best  policy  is  to  render  her 
ini  interior  state  and  condition  such  as  may  make  her  not  only  entirely 
(dependent,  but  also  able  to  compel  all  Europe  to  feel  its  want  of 
sr ;  and  this,  after  all,  would  only  be  difficult  to  Ministers  who  can 
»nceive  no  other  methods  to  effect  it  than  war  and  violence — methods 
lat  never  ought  to  be  pursued  without  an  absolute  necessity.     But 
i  the  Sovereign  show  himself  a  lover  of  peace,  disinterested  in  what 
igards  himself,  and  strictly  impartial  with  respect  to  others,  he  will 
len  be  certain  of  preserving  all  his  neighbours  in  that  dependence 
hich  alone  is  durable,  because  it  conciliates  the  affections  instead  of 
ibjecting  the  person.    I  dare  further  maintain,  that  peace  is  the 
■eat  and  common  interest  of  Europe,  the  petty  princes  of  which 
ight  to  be  continually  employed  in  preserving  it  between  the  greater 
owers  by  all  the  most   gentle  and  persuasive  means;   and  the 
reater  Powers  should  force  the  lesser  into  it,  if  necessary,  by  assist- 
g  the  weak  and  oppressed :  this  is  the  only  use  they  ought  to  make 
their  superiority.     When  I  consider  Europe  as  composed  of  such 
vilised  people,  I  cannot  but  be  astonished  that  she  still  continues 
be  governed  by  principles  so  narrow  and  customs  so  barbarous^ 
liat  is  the  consequence  of  that  profound  policy  of  which  she  is 
vain,  other  than  her  own  continual  laceration  and  ruin  ?    War  is 
e  resoiuce  in  all  places  and  on  all  occasions ;  she  knows  no  other 
iy,  or  conceives  no  other  expedients ;  it  is  the  sole  resource  of  the 
Dst  inconsiderable  sovereign  as  well  as  of  the  greatest  potentate ;. 
6  only  difference  between  them  is  that  the  former  makes  it  with 
s8  noise  and  in  conjunction  with  others,  while  the  latter  does  it 
th  great  preparation,  and  frequently  alone,  that  ho  may  show  hia 
andeur,  though  in  reality  he  only  shows  himself  more  signally 


*  '  Memoirs, '  vol.  il  p.  408.    Bohn's  Series. 

despicable. 


538  The  Balance  of  Power. 

degpioable.  Why  most  we  always  impose  on  onraelyeB  the  necewty 
of  passing  through  war  to  arriye  at  peace,  the  attainment  of  wbidi 
is  ihe  end  of  all  wars,  and  is  a  plain  proof  that  recourse  is  had  to  mi 
only  for  want  of  a  better  expedient?  NeyerthelesSy  we  haYe  so 
efTectaally  confounded  this  trum,  that  we  seem  to  make  peace  only 
that  we  may  be  able  again  to  make  war.'* 

This  passage  lays  down  the  law  which  Europe  has  ever  since 
been  attempting  to  carry  into  effect,  the  law  that  the  great 
Powers  should  form  a  sort  of  Amphictyonic  Council  for  the 
general  welfare.  Each  must  be  powerful  enough  to  be  xespected 
by  its  neighbours,  and  each  intimately  ooncemed  with  the 
external  policy  of  every  other.  For  this  purpose  each  most  be 
internally  strong  and  well-ordered,  or  independence  would  be 
impossible.  Thus  each  had  an  interest  in  the  prosperity  of  the 
rest.  Together  they  were  to  impose  peace  and  harmony  on  the 
smaller  States,  to  impose  it  by  force.  The  corollary  from  this 
proposition  was  that  war  must  necessarily  take  place  if  any  one 
of  the  greater  Powers  became  too  powerful  to  be  bound  by  the 
public  opinion  of  the  rest,  and  proceeded  to  absorb  neighbouring 
States  in  contempt  of  the  public  law. 

That  this  was  the  true  rendering  of  the  passage  just  quoted 
is  evident  from  the  fact  that  it  is  almost  immediately  followed 
by  the  elaborate  scheme  which  the  author  had  come  to  E)ngland, 
on  two  different  occasions,  to  press,  first  upon  Elizabeth,  and 
then  on  James.  There  was  much  to  be  done  before  Europe 
could  be  brought  into  a  state  of  equilibrium  which  would  admit 
of  an  international  Council ;  and  the  problem  was  depending  on 
France  and  England  for  its  solution.  Though  the  strength  of 
the  Austrian  House  lay  now  in  Germany  rather  than  Spain,  it 
still  bore  a  fatal  resemblance  to  the  tyrannies  which  had  been  so 
successfully  resisted  in  the  previous  century.  Spain  had  not  jet 
been  taught  to  stoop  to  the  recognition  of  the  revolted  Hollanders; 
the  Jesuits  had  fastened  with  the  grip  of  a  vice  on  the  broad  ter- 
ritories and  great  populations  of  the  dominant  ^faction;'  the 
Emperors  showed  unmistakable  signs  of  relinqmshing  their 
■quiescent  policy ;  for  the  decay  of  the  Ottoman  Empire  had 
already  commenced.  The  world,  according  to  Sully,  was 
divided  into  '  two  factions.*  He  and  his  comrade-king,  indeed, 
clearly  divined  that  the  smaller  would  in  the  end  prove  far  the 
strongest ;  yet  a  thousand  signs  betrayed  that  the  death-struggw 
was  only  about  to  begin.  The  forces  of  the  Papal  Powers  were 
gathering  for  one  last  decisive  effort. 

On  the  one  side  were  ranged,  according  to  Sully,  the  Popf» 

♦  •  Memoirs/  vol.  ii.  p.  352-8. 

the 


The  Balance  of  Power.  539 

the  Emperor,  Spain,  Spanish  Flanders,  parts  of  Germany  and 
Switzerland,  Savoy,  and  almost  all  Italy.  On  the  other  were 
France,  the  British  Isles,  Denmark,  Sweden,  Venice,  the  United 
Provinces,  and  the  other  parts  of  Germany  and  Switzerland. 
^Poland,  Prussia,  Livonia,  Muscovy,  and  Transylvania,  I  do 
not,'  says  he,  *  take  in.'*  They  were  too  continuously  engaged 
with  the  Turks  and  Tartars  to  be  included  in  the  system  of  the 
Western  Powers.  The  balance  was  as  yet  of  the  West  and 
Centre.  The  Ottoman  Empire  was  by  this  time  sufficiently 
withdrawn  from  the  European  balance  by  the  gradual  emergence 
•of  the  North-E)astem  Powers,  which  began  to  form,  along  with 
Turkey,  a  rude  balance  of  their  own.  It  took  another  century 
to  bring  them  up  into  line  with  their  Western  neighbours. 

The  minute  and  artificial  arrangement,  by  which  the  smaller 
faction  was  to  be  balanced  against  the  larger,  carried  with  it  its 
own  condemnation  ;  and  as  if  to  demonstrate  the  pettiness  of 
individual  man,  in  contrast  with  the  mighty  conceptions  of  his 
:genius,  the  hero,  whose  whole  career  seemed  to  be  an  education 
for  the  post  of  leader  in  the  approaching  conflict,  was  struck 
^own  by  the  assassin  at  the  very  moment  when  he  was  com- 
mencing his  forward  movement.  But  the  central  policy  of 
Henry  IV.,  that  of  humbling  the  House  of  Austria  for  the 
protection  of  France,  European  freedom,  and  Protestantism,  was 
'Completed  by  other  hands. 

Under  Richelieu,  his  maxims  found  practical  expression. 
Having  at  length  accomplished  the  unification  of  France,  the 
Cardinal  bent  his  marvellous  powers  to  the  task  of  matching 
the  Jesuits.  The  sword  of  Gustavus,  the  talents  of  the  Swedish 
"Generals  who  succeeded  that  hero,  were  but  instruments  in  his 
skilful  hands.  The  disasters  of  England,  which  had  refused  to 
take  up  her  natural  position  on  the  side  of  freedom,  owed  their 
impulse,  if  not  their  origin,  to  his  policy.  If  she  would  not 
.assist  in  the  work,  she  should  have  employment  enough  to  keep 
her  from  interference.  The  Protestant  princes  of  Germany,  who 
must  certainly  have  succumbed  had  it  not  been  for  the  French 
intervention,  were  thus  saved.  The  peace  of  Westphalia,  by 
which  Mazarin  brought  the  mighty  struggle  to  a  close,  marked 
the  progress  made  during  the  century  and  a  half  which  had  elapsed 
since  the  Reformation.  Religious  freedom  was  henceforth  re- 
<x>gnised  and  guaranteed.  Holland  and  Switzerland  were  at 
last  definitively  placed  in  an  independent  position  amongst  the 
nations.  A  new  era  in  the  policy  and  public  law  of  Europe 
was  ushered  in.      The  balance  of  power  for  which  the  Thirty 


♦  •  Memoirs,*  vol.  ii.  pp.  405-6. 

Years* 


540  The  Balance  of  Power. 

Years'  War  was  waged,  was  now  established  on  a  footing  whidk 
became  a  fresh  starting-point  for  Europe,  and  which  indeed,  in 
its  main  points,  has  never  been  overthrown. 

The  central  and  pregnant  defect  in  this  momentous  settlement 
was   the   too   great  aggrandisement   of  France,  caused  bj  the 
absence  of  Great  Britain  from  her  place  in  Continental  politics. 
Of  the  nations  which  had  as  yet  taken  part  in  them,  our  conntiy 
alone  was  unrepresented.     France  obtained  the  gratification  of 
that  fatal  ambition  which  Henry  IV.  had  left  as  his  legacy,  the 
inclusion  of  many  of  the  smaller  German  States  on  the  banks  of 
the  Rhine.     The  existence  of  small  Sovereign  States  on  botb 
sides  of  those  banks  was  a  dangerous  one  for  themselves,  bat  a 
safeguard  for  Europe.     The  Emperor  Frederick  III.  would  have* 
done  well  had  he  allowed  Charles  the  Bold  in   the  fifteentbi 
century  to  erect  them,  along  with  Flanders,   into  a  kingdom 
large  enough  to  take  care  of  itself.     There  was  a  feeble  attempt,, 
after   Marlborough's  victories  in   1706,  to  renew  that  policy; 
but  the  opportunity  had  been  lost,  and  Europe  has  suffered  bouoi 
the  loss  ever  since. 

It  was  on  this  basis  of  French  preponderance  that  Louis  XIV. 
built  up  his  colossal  power,  which  it  only  required  time  and 
ability,  during  the  abeyance  of  British  influence,  to  make  a^ 
formidable   as   that   from   which  Europe   had   been  delivered* 
As   long   as   Great    Britain   counted   for   nothing — and    it  i^ 
to   be   observed   that   even   the   exceptional   vigour   of  Crom- 
well's Protectorate  was  exercised   in   favour  of  France — wheiw 
Sweden  had  collapsed    in   consequence   of  efforts  out  of  pro- 
portion   to    her    natural    strength,    and    while    the    Austriaa 
House  was  paralysed  after  the  great  war,  the  balance  of  power 
was  left  to  take  care  of  itself.     The  Triple  Alliance  of  Charl»- 
for  a  moment  checked  the  progress  of  the  tyranny,  but  meani- 
were  soon   found  to  suppress  Louis'  ignoble  pensioner.     ^Tbc- 
great  monarch'  grew  year  by  year:    one  success  after  anothff 
placed  him,  as  he  thought,  beyond  the  reach  of  adversity.     Pre^ 
texts  were   found    for  reducing   one   neighbour  after  another. 
Europe  looked  on  aghast  and  helpless.     It  has  seldom  presented 
a  more  pitiable  spectacle.     But,  happily  for  the  world,  the  prin^ 
ciples  which  had  effected  the  Peace  of  Westphalia  were  only 
dormant.     Once    more  the  magnificent  resistance   of  Holland 
saves  Europe ;  once  more  Great  Britain  is  brought  on  the  stag^ 
to  direct  the  general  movement  of  the  nations,  at  last  aroused  to- 
a  sense  of  their  danger.     Under  William,  the  champion  and 
foremost    representative  of  the  balance  of  power,  under  Marl' 
borough — (for  we  need  not   in  this    sketch   separate   the  two- 
wars) — the     scattered    forces   of    the   European    coalition   arp 

combineo^ 


The  Balance  of  Power.  541 

nbined,  and  the  tyrant,  who  has  broken  the  public  law  of 
iTope,  is  at  last  reduced  to  his  proper  dimensions. 
We  need  not  linger  over  the  very  alphabet  of  history  to  prove 
It  France,  absorbing  by  ^  reunions '  and  similar  processes  all 
I  States  on  her  Eastern  frontier,  supreme  in  Spain  and  Italy, 
rhaps  in  England,  and  ruled  in  the  spirit  which  dictated  the 
BYocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes  and  the  Dragonnades,  would 
ve  been  a  monster  against  which  the  world  must  have  com- 
Qed  sooner  or  later.  We  need  not  speculate  how  the  deliver- 
loe  might  have  been  effected  ;  whether  the  shattering  force 
mid  have  sprung  from  some  earlier  *  French  Revolution' 
exhausted  France,  or  some  earlier  advent  of  Teutonic  and 
ftTonic  kingdoms  to  political  power.  We  need  not  stop  to 
iticise  the  Peace  of  Utrecht,  by  which  this  ^greatest  and  most 
neral  conflict  since  the  Crusades '  was  at  last  terminated.  It 
enough  to  observe  that  the  members  of  the  system  of  States 
that  time  existing  did  at  last  the  duty  which  lay  before  them, 
t  retiring  selfishly  within  their  own  limits — though  of  course 
sre  was,  as  ever,  an  abundance  of  selfishness  displayed,  and 

*  usual  infusion  of  mixed  motives  ;  but  on  the  whole,  and  on 
'  whole  persistently,  these  Powers  recognised  their  public 
ty  to  Europe  as  a  confederation  of  nations  which  could  alone 
1st  in  harmony  under  the  condition  of  a  balance  of  power.  And 
may  also  be  worth  observing  that  the  nations  which  most 
Qourably  fulfilled  their  part  appear  to  have  prospered  in 
Hething  very  like  a  due  proportion  to  their  merits.  It  would 
course  be  presumptuous  to  dwell  too  much  upon  this  point, 

human  eyes  are  scarcely  able  to  measure  causes  and  con- 
[uences  with  sufficient  accuracy;  but  the  start  in  advance 
de  by  Great  Britain,  which  had  proved  herself  more  than  a 
.tch  for  France  and  Spain  united,  and  now  began  to  spread 

*  language  and  institutions  throughout  the  world ;  the  sub- 
pent  career  of  Holland,  the  adopted  child  of  Europe,  and  the 
er  sister  of  Belgium  ;  the  ever-onward  history  of  Prussia, 
ich  earned  its  place  amidst  the  nations  by  its  adhesion  to 
!  public  cause;  the  fortunes  of  Austria  which  were  pro- 
irous  just  as  far  as  she  showed  public  spirit,  and  lost  g^und 
t  as  far  as  she  pursued  the  selfish  policy  of  aiming  at  the 
.ce  from  which  she  had  helped  to  depose  Louis ;  the  fate 
Bavaria,  which  handed  on  the  tradition  of  the  part  she  then 
.yed  to  later  generations ;  the  downward  course  of  France, 
ich  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  even  yet  stopped,  though 
icked  for  a  time  by  her  successes  under  the  first  Napoleon ; 
se  retrospects  are  at  least  suggestive. 

Vor  shall  we  be  the  less  inclined  to  appreciate  the  merits  of 

this 


0 

542  The  Balance  of  Potoer. 

this  second  great  settlement  of  Europe,  the  first  to  embody  it> 
object  in  set  words — ^  ad  conservandum  in  Europa  aequilibrinm  */ 
if  we  reflect  not  only  how  it  has  left  the  system  of  smaller  States 
as  barriers  and  cushions  between  the  larger,  with  an  indepcnd* 
ence  of  each  guarded  by  common  agreement,  down  to  our  own 
times,  but  that  it  was  followed  by  a  general  peace  throughout 
Europe  and  the  world  for  twenty-five  years,  and  was  then  onlj 
unequal  to  the  task  of  preserving  the  balance  of  power,  became 
two  new  Powers,  not  yet  taken  into  account,  had  risen  to  the 
first  rank.  So  much  must  certainly  be  placed  to  the  credit  of 
the  political  doctrine  which  it  represented.  And  it  may  be 
noticed  in  addition  that,  after  all,  the  years  of  peace  in  Europe 
from  the  Treaty  of  Utrecht  to  the  French  Revolution  were 
nearly  thrice  as  numerous  as  those  of  war. 

Thus  at  the  end  of  two  centuries,  during  which  England  and 
France  had  worked  out  in  turns  the  principles  of  public  law, 
those  principles  appear  in  formal  and  express  terms.  Two 
subsequent  facts  may  be  traced  to  this  circumstance.  An  erro- 
neous opinion  has  prevailed  that  the  balance  of  power  is  no  older 
than  the  eighteenth  century,  an  artificial  product  of  a  corrupt 
age ;  whereas  we  have  seen  that  it  had  a  very  different  origiiL 
This  is  chiefly  important  as  to  the  evils  which  may  arise  from 
contempt  of  the  doctrine,  ensuing  upon  a  low  conception  of 
its  history.  And  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  very  formulatioii 
of  the  doctrine  and  its  familiar  recognition  have  suggested  formal 
and  dishonest  methods  of  evading  it,  while  the  abuses  which 
have  occurred  in  consequence  have  tended  to  its  discredit  It 
is  in  the  history  of  the  eighteenth  century  that  we  discern  the 
growth  of  these  abuses ;  but  we  shall  still  find  them  exceptional, 
and  only  requiring  a  little  discrimination  to  assign  them  their 
true  place. 

The  eighteenth  century  ushered  in  two  fresh  members  of  the^ 
great  family  of  ruling  nations;  Prussia,  whose  *  Elector  of 
Brandenburg'  was  now  a  King,  and  which  alone  of  the  German 
Powers  (besides  the  Emperor)  had  attached  her  signature  to  the 
Peace  of  Utrecht ;  and  Russia,  whose  rise  had  been  less  marked, 
and  which  was  somewhat  later  in  affecting  the  West.  Both  had 
risen  on  the  ruins  of  Poland  and  the  decay  of  Sweden.  Both 
burst  on  the  West  as  Powers  that  must  be  counted  with,  through 
the  fact  of  their  each  producing  a  man  who  towered  above 
all  his  fellows,  much  in  the  same  way  as  Charlemagne  and 
Napoleon  towered  above  theirs.  Perhaps  since  the  death  of  the 
first  of  those  extraordinary  men  the  course  of  events  had  not 
been   so   much  guided  by  the  personal  will  of  an  individual 


7%e  Balance  of  Power.  543 

as  it  was  bj  Peter  the  Great,  and  in  the  next  generation  by 
Frederick  the  Great.  The  sanguinary  wars,  which  must  be  re- 
girded  as  the  necessary  consequence  of  having  to  find  a  place 
ftr  the  new  Powers  in  the  European  system,  afibnl  sad  reflec- 
tkmf  for  the  philanthropist;  but  some  compensation  at  least 
my  be  found  in  the  assistance  given  by  both  nations  to  the 
UKrtion  of  the  balance  of  power  in  the  great  wars  arising  out 
of  the  French  Revolution.  Up  to  that  date,  indeed,  the  general 
principles  of  public  law,  though  exceptionally  overborne,  were 
generally  admitted,  and  often  successfully  appealed  to ;  and  the 
landmarks  of  the  Peace  of  Utrecht  remained  almost  as  they  had 
ken  fixed  in  1713. 

The  general  peace  of  Europe  was  first  disturbed  by  Frederick 
the  Great's  unjustifiable  seizure  of  Silesia ;  it  was  the  sigpnal 
fm  the  two  fierce  wars  out  of  which  Prussia  emerged  as  one  of 
tbe  five  leading  Powers.  Except  for  this  attack  on  Maria 
Theresa,  it  seems  probable  that  the  Pragmatic  Sanction,  that 
ciieful  attempt  to  anticipate  a  general  unsettlement  of  the 
balance,  would  have  been  observed.  But  the  temptation  to 
France,  Bavaria,  and  other  Powers,  when  the  strife  had  once 
begun,  to  possess  themselves  of  the  territories  of  the  Austrian 
HoQse  was  too  great,  and  all  pretence  of  war  for  the  balance  of 
power  was  for  a  time  abandoned.  The  Pragmatic  Sanction, 
Mideed,  like  William's  Partition  Treaties,  laboured  under  the 
•eiious  defect  that  it  was  not,  any  more  than  they  were  (nor  in 
*beir  nature  could  they  be),  the  joint  product  of  all  the  rowers 
^Qcemed.  Like  big  new  boys,  if  such  a  comparison  may  be 
•Uowed,  entering  a  school  in  which  the  old  rules  take  scant 
*<^unt  of  new  comers,  a  general  fight  all  round  seamed  the 
^^oly  jif^j  of  securing  proper  respect  for  all  alike. 

If  any  nation  could  make  a  claim  to  honour  for  having  acted 
*  this  time  up  to  the  principles  of  public  law,  Great  Britain, 
^ough  much  influenced  by  special  interests  in  Hanover,  and 
'^ilty  of  making  many  mistakes  in  consequence,  may  receive 
•"^ise  for  her  conduct.  Hers  was  at  least  an  effort  to  do  what 
^^  right  in  support  of  the  injured  Queen,  whose  destruction 
^^nld  certainly  have  deranged  the  balance.  And  it  was  equally 
S'ht  and  politic,  in  spite  of  all  that  had  happened,  to  throw  the 
^ight  of  England,  in  the  Seven  Years'  War,  into  the  scale  of 
^ijssia.  In  both  cases  France,  which  was  now  endeavouring  to 
'^^p  back  into  the  position  she  had  occupied  before  the  Peace  of 
"^recht,  was  paralysed  by  the  action  of  Great  Britain ;  and  the 
^T)  central  Teutonic  peoples  of  Europe  were,  in  the  end,  pre- 
-^^ed  and  strengthened  in  their  rank  of  first-rate  Powers, 
^ance  reaped  the  fruit  of  her  crooked  policy  in  the  loss  of  her 

colonies 


544  The  Balance  of  Power. 

colonies  and  the  increase  of  her  debt,  which  had  an  important 
effect  in  producing  the  Revolution  ;  while  Great  Britain  rose  to 
the  headship  of  Europe,  and  steadily  advanced  her  coloniei 
and  commerce  to  such  a  degree  as  to  make  the  increase  of  her 
^ebt  a  matter  of  small  consequence.  The  only  nation,  in  short, 
which  could  make  the  slightest  pretence  to  having  acted  for 
the  general  good  made  the  greatest  gain. 

The  Partition  of  Poland  by  Russia,  Austria,  and  Prussia, 
which  comes  next  in  order,  has  been  universally  condemned  as 
the  greatest  abuse  of  the  doctrine  of  the  balance  of  power  which 
had  ever  taken  place  up  to  that  time.     It  has  rightly  earned 
this  ill-fame  inasmuch  as  it  has  been,  immediately  or  remotelj, 
the  pretext  for  wars  which  have  occurred  since.     These  three 
Powers,  while  they  had  learnt  to  respect  one  another's  strength 
in  the  Seven  Years'  War,  had  also  learnt  to  watch  one  another 
with  intense  jealousy ;  nor  were  any  of  them  governed  at  this 
moment  on  any  but  the  most  selfish  and  unprincipled  policy. 
Nothing  can  be  more  revolting  than  the  paraide  of  justice,  and 
the  cant  about  the  balance  of  power,  under  cover  of  which  this 
spoliation  was  effected.     The  partition  of  Poland  was,  indeed, 
no  new  idea.     The  Poles  had  been  long  a  decaying  nationality 
in  the  midst  of  powerful  and  more  barbarous  neighbours.    Mor^ 
than  a  century  before,  the  Emperor  Leopold  and  the  Elector  of 
Brandenburg  had  been  grievously  suspected  by  the  Poles  of  » 
similar  conspiracy.     France,  whose  connection  with  Poland  haJ^ 
been  so  intimate,  was  too  distant  to  afford  effectual  aid,  nor  were? 
either  she  or  Great  Britain  disposed  at  this  time  to  encounter  a> 
league  of  the  three  conquering  Powers.     They  were  prompted 
to  some  degree  by  motives  even  less  respectable  than  timidity. 
They  abdicated  their  functions ;  and  thus,  with  all  the  lessons 
of  the  previous  period  for  warning,  a  process  the  exact  reverse  of 
that  which  had  given  security  to  Western  Europe  took  place  in  the 
East.     Instead  of  the  great  Powers  uniting  to  protect  the  small, 
and  leaving  barriers  and  cushions  to  take  off  the  friction  with 
each  other,  they  either  united  to  erase  the  smaller  Powers,  or 
looked  on  with   complacency  while  it  was  being  done.     The 
sense  of  shame  with  which  the  Partition  has  been  since  regarded 
is,  in  itself,  a  tribute  to  the  progress  of  public  law,  to  the  growth 
of  an  international  conscience. 

This  wicked  act  was  consummated  about  a  hundred  years 
ago.  How  far  has  Russia  secured  the  respect  of  Europe  by  her 
treatment  of  the  Poles  ?  What  has  she  gained  by  forcing  with 
her  own  hands  this  thorn  into  her  side  ?  What  has  PrussiSi 
now  Germany,  gained  by  the  removal  of  a  nation,  which,  frona 

its  position,  could  alone  enable  her  to  be  independent  of  the 

Northern 


Hie  Balance  of  Power.  545 

rthem  Colossus  ?  What  has  Austria  gained  but  an  inherit- 
«  of  misfortune,  which  England,  her  old  and  constant  ally, 
I  only  regard  with  grief? 

t  was  this  fatal  partition  of  Poland  which  supplied  Napoleon 
(laparte  with  a  pretext,  and  in  too  many  eyes  a  justification, 
his  similar  high-handed  incorporation  of  independent  States. 
I  avowed  policy  may  be  expressed  thus : — *  You  have  weighed! 
ni  the  balance  by  your  proceedings  in  the  East  of  Europe ;  i 
at  redress  it  in  the  West,' — a  claim  as  specious  and  unprin- 
led  as  that  which  he  denounced ;  but  bad  precedents  make 
I  consequences.  And  we  have  heard  the  same  accents  from 
re  than  one  quarter  in  our  own  time,  self-asserted  claims  by 
interested  party  on  pretence  of  preserving  the  balance  of 
irer ;  whereas  the  very  essence  of  a  true  use  of  the  doctrine  is 
X  the  nations  shall  together  judge  of  the  infraction  of  the 
blic  law  by  any  one  of.  them,  and  act  in  concert  to  prevent  it. 
t  what  is  to  be  done  when  the  conspirators  are  too  strong  for 
\  police  ?  This  is  a  question  which  it  is  not  easy  to  answer  ; 
t  it  is  certainly  not  answered  by  shutting  the  eyes  to  facts, 
le  thing  is  certain.  Retribution  is  sure  to  follow,  heavy 
ribution,  on  the  offenders ;  but  the  lookers-on  will  not  escape. 
\o  one,'  says  Ranke,  speaking  of  an  earlier  period,  ^goes 
punished  who  stands  aside  in  moments  when  the  duty  of 
don  is  laid  imperatively  on  all.'  * 

Another  abuse  of  the  doctrine  of  balance,  similar  to  the  above, 
t  far  more  pardonable,  since  it  is  the  result  of  erroneous  theory 
her  than  selfish  greed,  is  that  of  using  the  opportunity  of  a 
aeral  peace  and  resettlement  to  round  off  territories  in  an 
ificial  manner,  adding  this  slice  to  one  State  and  that  to> 
other,  without  reference  to  the  wishes  or  history  of  the  people 
:icemed,  but  merely  to  sustain  the  balance  of  power.  Such 
A  the  course  pursued  on  more  than  one  occasion,  but  especially 
the  Treaty  of  Vienna,  the  third  great  settlement  of  Europe 
Lce  the  Reformation ;  and  it  was  the  more  flagrantly  wrongs 
ice  the  progress  of  liberal'  ideas  had  left  less  excuse  for  the 
(regard  of  popular  rights. 

Prom  these  instances  of  abuse,  which  we  may  justly  claim 
>uld  be  considered  exceptional  by  the  side  of  the  vast  pre- 
aderance  of  useful  application  of  the  principle,  it  is  a  relief  te 
n  to  the  coalition  of  Europe  against  France  in  the  wars  of  the 
volution.  In  the  military  propagandism  of  that  movement, 
i  in  the  subsequent  unblushing  ambition  of  Napoleon,  are  to- 
found — if  ever  there  were   found — the  just  grounds   for  a 


*  *  Histoiy  of  England/  vol.  v.  p.  14.  Oxford  Translation. 
Vol.  143. — No.  286.  2  N  combinationi 


546  The  Balance  of  Power. 

combination  of  Powers  against  a  disturber  of  the  peace.    We 
must  give  up  altogether  the  formation  of  historical  judgments  if 
we  are  to  allow  the  presence  of  mixed  m6tiyes  and  the  per- 
petration of  mistakes  to  interfere  with  our  approval  of  a  conrse 
which  is,  on  the  whole,  just  and  right.     Von  Sybel  has  suffi- 
ciently proved,  if  proof  were  needed,  that  the  charges  formerly 
brought   against  the  Allies  at  the  commencement  of  the  war 
are   unfounded ;   and  that  the  part  which  Great  Britain  took 
in  it  was  as  noble  and  disinterested  as  it  was  successful  and 
glorious.     The  question  was  one  of  self-defence,  self-preserva- 
tion, public  duty,  in  the  cause  of  those  who  would  otherwise 
have  been  overwhelmed  ;  and  if  we  require  any  confirmation  of 
the  ideas  of  right  and  wrong  which  we  may  have  formed  as  to 
the  actors  in  that  tremendous  conflict,  if  consequences  are  anj 
ground  of  judgment  as  to  events,  it  can  hardly  be  denied  that 
public  respect  and  influence,  internal  progress  and  tranqniUitj, 
have   rewarded  the  nations  concerned,  in  a  wonderfully  exact 
proportion  to  the  public  virtue  they  exhibited.     Great  Britain 
at  any  rate,  in  spite  of  her  debt,  has  reason  to    comprehend 
the  verdict  of  events. 

The  Treaty  of  Vienna,  which,  like  those  of  Westphalia  and 
Utrecht,  the  results  of  former  coalitions  to  preserve  public  law, 
gave  peace  to  the  world  for  so  many  years,  may  have  been  by  this 
time  torn  to  pieces  ;  but  it  has  carried  down  to  our  own  day  the 
authoritative  teaching  of  the  previous  centuries.  That  teaching 
may  be  summed  up  in  a  single  sentence.  It  is  the  duty  of  the 
members  of  the  European  Commonwealth  to  act  together,  and 
not  independently,  in  their  mutual  relations  ;  and  that  all  shoold 
take  concerted  action  against  any  aggressive  member  of  the 
Commonwealth ;  not  shrinking  from  self-sacrifice,  still  less  pro- 
claiming the  craven  doctrine  that  the  aflfairs  of  its  neighboun 
are  no  concern  of  any  particular  State.  That  any  such  theory 
could  have  found  acceptance,  is  probably  due  to  the  con- 
fusion of  thought  which  has  mixed  up  the  just  condemnation 
of  a  meddling  intervention  in  the  internal  affairs  of  States, 
with  a  most  unjust  condemnation  of  the  international  right 
to  guard  against  external  danger  arising  from  the  menacing 
aggrandisement  of  a  State  or  States.  To  prevent  aggression  and 
the  conquest  of  the  weaker  Powers  by  means  of  alliances,  remon- 
strances, conferences,  arbitration  if  possible,  but,  in  the  last 
resort,  war,  is  the  duty  incumbent  on  the  European  family 
of  nations ;  to  interfere  with  each  other's  internal  affairs  is  to 
strike  at  the  root  of  their  common  brotherhood.  It  is  not  sur- 
prising that  the  interventions  of  the  'Holy  Alliance'  in  the 
affairs  of  States  should  have  been   succeeded  by  the  agencies 

of 


3ni€  Balance  of  Povoer.  547 

•of  an  opposite  kind  which  Great  Britain  for  many  years  encou- 
raged. It  was  all  wrong;  it  has  heen  condemned  hy  puhlic 
opinion,  and  has  passed  away:  not  so  the  fundamental  obli- 
gations of  Public  Law. 

A  few  words  must  suffice  to  gather  up  the  instances  of  use  or 
abase  of  the  balance  of  power  as  a  doctrine  applied  in  our  own 
generation.  Greece  and  Belgium  have  been  treated  by  Europe 
on  the  old-established  principle  of  common  action.  The  annex- 
ation of  Savoy  and  Nice  and  the  case  of  Denmark  have  afforded 
instances  of  neglect  or  abuse  of  the  principle.  The  ^  Eastern 
Question,'  in  relation  to  the  decline  and  anarchy  of  the  Ottoman 
Empire,  has  been  a  yet  more  important  instance,  and  is,  while  we 
write,  still  awaiting  the  action  of  to-day,  the  judgment  of  the 
to-morrow  of  history.  The  policy  of  Europe  in  1840  may  fairly 
be  reckoned  among  the  legitimate  triumphs  of  concerted  action. 
The  Crimean  War,  if  it  did  not  indeed  combine  the  whole  con- 
federacy in  a  manner  creditable  to  all,  yet  at  least  asserted  with 
success  the  principle  that  the  party  interested  in  obtaining  the 
spoils  should  not  be  entrusted  with  the  execution  of  the  common 
policy.  The  adoption  of  this  principle  also  secured  the  success 
of  the  later  policy  of  1866,  in  Syria.  These  last  are  the  questions 
with  which  Great  Britain  has  been  obliged  to  deal,  in  consequence 
of  her  commercial  and  colonial  position  and  her  Indian  Empire. 
Whether  she  has  been  right  in  retiring  altogether  from  her  old 
rplace  in  relation  to  the  Continental  struggles  of  France,  Italy, 
Germany,  and  Austria,  remains  to  be  seen.  There  are  not  wantr 
ing  indications  that  a  more  vigorous  policy  might  have  placed 
her  in  a  better  position  with  reference  to  questions  which  she 
cannot  evade  if  she  would,  and,  what  is  really  more  important, 
would  have  produced  and  transmitted  a  higher  moral  tone  in 
the  international  relations  of  Europe  than  unfortunately  prevails 
at  present.  A  general  survey  of  those  relations,  as  brought  out 
during  the  anxious  suspense  of  the  past  year,  suggests  painful 
reflections.  It  is  not  creditable  to  the  nineteenth  century  that  the 
noble  lessons  of  the  past  should  have  been  forgotten,  and  that 
the  recurrence  of  the  ignoble  attitude  of  Europe  during  the  early 
years  of  Louis  Quatorze  and  at  the  partition  of  Poland  should 
have  been  witnessed  once  more  in  an  age  of  boasted  progress 
and  enlightenment.  In  the  American  struggle  it  could  not,  of 
course,  be  maintained  that  Europe  should  have  interfered.  It 
was  not  a  case  for  the  application  of  the  balance  of  power. 

There  can  be  no  greater  mistake  than  to  suppose  that,  having 
attained  our  present  grand  position,  we  can  fall  back  on  our  insular 
situation  as  an  excuse  for  political  retirement.     That  position 

2  N  2  has 


548  The  Balance  of  Power. 

has  been  gained  by  centuries  of  action  as  an  integral  part  of  the 
European  community,  and  we  all  acknowledge  that  there  are 
Continental  contingencies  which  must  even  now  compel  ui  to 
draw  the  sword.  That  admission  opens  up  the  larger  questioni 
suggested  by  political  foresight  and  political  retrospect,  the 
whole  question  of  the  balance  of  power,  and  concerted  action 
backed  if  necessary  by  war.  It  is  quite  a  work  of  supereroga- 
tion to  prove  that  the  liabilities,  duties,  and  dangers  of  oar 
position  have  not  diminished  by  the  lapse  of  time  or  the  im- 
provements of  mechanical  art,  by  the  progress  of  steam  and  the 
telegraph  on  sea  and  land,  the  elaboration  of  artillery,  or  the 
invention  of  torpedoes.  The  peace-at^ny-price  policy  may  leek 
for  a  spurious  justification  in  the  aspirations  after  peace  and 
progress  which  flourish  with  increasing  civilisation ;  but  those 
who  have  followed  us  hitherto  will  probably  be  unanimous  in 
agreeing  that  it  is  as  great  a  crime,  as  g^at  an  abuse  or  neglect 
of  the  balance  of  power,  for  any  nation  forming  part  of  the  great 
European  system,  to  separate  itself  from  the  community  on  a. 
private  interpretation  of  its  own  interest  in  non-intervention,  as 
it  is  for  a  nation  to  act  on  a  private  interpretation  of  the  public 
law,  for  agg^ssive  purposes,  apart  from  the  rest  of  Europe. 

Our  space  forbids  us  to  dwell  upon  the  confirmation  of  the 
above  views  afforded  by  the  authorities  on  International  Law.- 
It  will  be  enough  to  make  a  few  references,  and  leave  the  reader 
to  his  books.  They  shall  be  taken  from  recent  authors,  one 
from  each  of  the  nations  which  at  present  contribute  most 
effectually  to  the  progress  of  the  science,  German,  French,. 
American,  and  English  : — 

*  True  equilibrium/  says  the  distinguished  German,  M.  BlantscUi 
(we  quote  from  the  Paris  edition  of  1870),  *  consists  in  the  pacifio- 
ooexistence  of  different  States.  It  is  threatened  when  one  Stat3 
acquires  such  a  supremacy  that  the  safety,  independence,  and  liberty 
of  the  other  States  are  endangered.  In  such  a  case,  all  the  State0> 
directly  or  indirectly  threatened  are  authorised  to  re-establish  tb& 
equilibrium,  and  to  take  measures  to  insure  its  maintenance.* 

'  If  it  should  happen,'  said  M.  Pradier  Fod^re,  *  that  a  nationality^ 
be  threatened,  since  Europe  echoes  the  cry  of  every  people,  and  sincJ^ 
no  movement  is  indifferent  to  each  and  all,  intervention  wonld  ^ 
not  a  right,  but  a  duty  in  the  name  of  humanity.'  f 

*The  balance  of  power,*  says  Mr.  Woolsey,  President  of  Yal^ 
College,  in  the  United  States,  '  may  be  said  to  be  an  established  p«^ 
of  the  international  law  of  Europe.*} 


*  ( 


Le  Droit  Interaational  CodifieV    Par  M.  Bluntachli.    P.  95.    PariB,  IS^- 
t  *  Principea  Gen^raux  de  Droit,*  &c.    Par  M.  P.  Pradier  Foddr^.    Pariu,!^-. 
J  Woolsey'B  *  Introduction  to  the  atridy  of  International  Law,'  p.  61.    Second 
edition.    New  York,  1869.  _, 

^  iTh© 


^^^r  Ttie  Jialance  of  Power. 

The  principle  of  the  balance  of  power,'  saya  Sir  Robert  Philli- 
D,  '  faaB  be«n,  upon  sovoral  occasions  of  great  importance,  most 
tally  and  distinctly  recognised  as  an  oEseutial  part  of  the  system 
Dtemational  law.'  It  does  not  require  that  natioDs  retain  exactly 
r  present  territorial  possessions,  '  but  that  no  single  Power  should 
llowed  to  increase  them  in  a  manner  which  threatens  the  liberties 
ither  States.'     And  ho  denounces  the  folly  and  ahortsightednoea 

vulgar  politicians  who  hold  the  doctrine  that  a  State  has  no 
sem  with  the  acta  of  her  neighbour,  and  that  if  wrong  bo  done  to 

irs  and  not  to  herself,  she  cannot  afford  to  interfere It  is 

right  of  third  Powers  to  watch  over  the  preservation  of  the  balance 
Dwcr  among  existing  States,  whether  by  preventing  the  aggreasioua 
conquests  of  any  one  Power,  or  by  taking  care  that  out  of  the 

order  of  things  produced  by  internal  revolutions  no  existing 
er  acquires  an  aggrandisement  that  may  menace  the  liberties  of 
rest  of  the  world.'  • 

Since,'  says  (at  an  earlier  date)  Nassau  Senior,  '  the  principal 
es  of  Continental  Eorope, — France,  Busaia,  Austoia  and  Prussia, 
v/B  grown  from  small  b^nninga  to  powerful  and  flourishing 
archies  by  centuries  of  ambition,  injustice,  violence  and  fraud,  it 
SviouB  that  the  attempt  to  bind  nations  by  more  moral  sanctions  is 
etter  giante  with  cobwebs.  But  when  a  nation  perceives  a  pro- 
lity  that  it  will  be  resisted  [in  its  attacks  on  the  rights  of  weaker 
ons]  and  a  possibility  that  it  may  fall,  the  check  is  powerful.'^ 

'o  those  who  have  accepted  the  dogmatic  statements,  passed 
bom  one  to  another  in  newspapers,  reviews,  and  periodicals 
late  years,  to  the  effect  that  the  whole  doctrine  of  the  balance 
wwer  is  obsolete  and  absurd,  it  may  be  a  surprise  to  find  not 
y  that  such  passages  as  the  above  abound  in  the  best  modern 
itises  on  International  Law  and  politics,  but  that  a  popular 
ler,  of  strong  liberal  principles,  like  M.  Laveleje,  finds 
■self  obliged  to  admit  that  the  doctrine  has  been  necessary  for 
^ress  and  liberty,  and  only  asserts  or  predicts  its  decline  on 
ands  of  a  somewhat  fanciful  character.}  It  is,  at  least 
licious  when  the  writers  of  the  nation  which  supposes  it 
i>e  its  interest  to  vote  the  doctrine  obsolete  are  so  little 
ported.  It  cannot  but  suggest  the  idea  of  a  disgraceful  and 
■condemning  heresy.  The  Americans,  indeed,  have  given 
e  countenance  to  this  superficial  view,  but  the  passage 
i  above  from  Mr.  Woolsey  s  popular  work  may  almost  be 
cbed  by  passages  from  Wbeaton,  who  stands  at  the  head 
American  authors  on  International  Law.  He,  at  least,  justi- 
Upon    this  principle  all    the  chief  wars  which   have  been 

Phillimore'i '  Inlcmationu]  I^w,'  vol.  i.  pp.  473-510.     Second  edition, 
'  Edinburgh  Review,'  April,  1843. 

'  Dea  Catiaea   actiicllea    de  guorre   ea   I'Europo  et  de  I'arbitrage.' 
»  de  Lnveleye.    Cbap.  V.    Brussula  and  PBris,  1873. 


1871.  J 


550  The  Balance  of  Power. 

waged  in  Europe.*  If  we  cite  one  more  authority  it  shall  be- 
that  of  by  far  the  greatest  historian  of  this  age,  Von  Ranke.  What 
that  profound  and  truly  erudite  mind  pronounces  to  be  ^  neces- 
sary to  the  existence  of  the  States  of  Europe  *t  can  hardly  desenre 
contempt.  He  who  has  written  the  history  of  the  chief  nations 
of  Europe  as  no  one  else  has  written  them,  makes  no  limitation 
of  time  in  this  matter.  The  principle  has  existed,  does  exist, 
and  must  exist.  '  One  of  the  causes,'  says  he,  *  which  enable 
the  European  commonwealth  to  maintain  itself  as  a  living  whole 
is  that  there  are  active  forces  latent  within  it  which  have  always 
hitherto  restored  the  balance  of  power  when  disturbed.'  %  It  is 
his  survey  of  the  past  which  gives  him  hope  for  the  future. 
It  would,  indeed,  be  strange  if  the  people  of  the  country  which 
has  taken  the  lead  in  this  matter,  paid  the  greatest  price,  achieved 
the  greatest  results,  and  has  the  largest  stake  in  the  preservation 
of  the  principle,  should  be  precisely  the  people  whose  aid  was 
found  wanting  at  the  most  critical  moment  in  the  production 
of  those  *  latent  active  forces '  on  which  the  veteran  historian 
and  philosopher  relies.  For  our  own  part  we  do  not  believe 
it.  The  heart  of  the  country  is  sound.  For  a  moment,  puzzled 
and  confused  by  sophists  at  home,  and  the  attitude  of  our  neigh- 
bours abroad,  unwilling  to  believe  the  logic  of  facts,  we  have  been 
slowly  and  painfully  looking  about  us.  But  this  is  no  argu- 
ment that  such  an  attitude  will  continue.  Should  it  once  be 
brought  home  to  the  British  people  that  in  consequence  of  the 
paralysis  which  has  smitten  the  Centre  and  West  of  the  Continent 
(ensuing  upon  the  late  wars  from  which  this  country  retired), 
the  balance  of  power  has  become  hopelessly  deranged,  and  that 
public  law  is  set  at  defiance,  the  old  spirit  will  return  once 
more,  and  it  will  be  found  that  the  resources  which  have  in 
past  ages  destroyed  so  many  tyrannies,  will  be  produced  only 
the  more  freely  and  ungrudgingly  because  they  have  been 
reserved  for  a  necessity,  and  withheld  till  every  eflTort  of 
Diplomacy  had  been  tried  and  failed. 

It  is  a  satisfaction  to  observe,  as  we  go  to  press,  that  the  late, 
almost  desperate,  diplomatic  eflFort  offers  at  the  last  moment  a 
hope  of  escape  for  Europe.  Should  it  turn  out  as  we  have  some 
reason  to  hope  it  may,  the  cause  of  Public  Law  and  European 
concert,  the  principle  of  the  Balance  of  Power  of  which  we  have 
been  tracing  the  history,  will  have  received  a  confirmation  long 
and  painfully  wanted,  and  which  affords  a  fairer  prospect  for  the 
future  than  we  had,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  allowed  ourselves 
to  indulge. 

*  Wheaton's  '  International  Law.'    Eighth  edition,  p.  92  et  aeq. 
t  •  Hiatory  of  England/  vol.  iv.  p.  385.  {  Ibid.  p.  SW. 

Abt. 


(    551    ) 

Abt.  IX. — 1.  Turkistan:  Notes  of  a  Journey  in  Russian 
Turkistan,  Kltokand^  Bokhara^  and  Kuldja.  By  Eugene 
Schuyler.     London.     2  vols.,  1876. 

2.  A  Ride  to  Khiva :  Travels  and  Adventures  in  Central  Asia.  By 
Fred.  Bumaby,  Captain  Royal  Horse  Guards.    London,  1876. 

3.  Campaigning  on  the  Oxus.  By  J.  MacGahan.  London, 
1874. 

4.  Shores  of  Lake  Aral,  By  Major  Wood,  R.E.  London, 
1876. 

5.  Clouds  in  the  JEast:  Travels  and  Adventures  on  the  Perso^ 
Turkoman  Frontier.     By  Valentine  Baker.     London,  1876. 

IN  the  present  lull  of  political  strife  respecting  the  ^  Eastern 
Question '  in  Europe,  it  may  be  not  without  advantage  to 
turn  our  attention  to  the  position  of  Russia  in  Central  Asia. 
Only  a  few  years  ago  our  knowledge  of  that  part  of  the  world 
was  of  a  comparatively  limited  character.  The  country  was 
remote  and  inaccessible,  and  so  dangerous  for  European  travel- 
lers, owing  to  the  prevailing  lawlessness  and  fanatical  hostility 
of  its  inhabitants,  that  personal  records  by  travellers  were  rare ; 
and  as  our  interests  did  not  appear  to  be  directly  or  imme- 
diately involved,  the  public  generally  were  content  to  regard  it 
as  a  somewhat  mysterious  region,  consisting  chiefly  of  three 
Principalities  or  Khanates  TKhiva,  Bokhara,  and  Kokan),  which, 
whilst  torn  by  internal  feuas,  and  of  no  great  military  strength, 
were  being  invaded  and  gradually  absorbed  by  the  advance  of 
Russia  from  the  north.  The  above,  in  a  few  words,  may 
be  sufficient  to  convey  the  general  view  held  by  most  persons 
of  Central  Asia,  say  twenty  years  ago.  There  were,  of  course, 
even  at  that  time,  some  who  had  made  the  subject  a  study, 
and  who,  possibly  foreseeing  its  future  bearing  upon  our  em- 
pire in  India,  endeavoured  to  call  attention  to  the  political  and 
military  changes  which  were  rapidly  affecting  its  condition, 
and  might  eventually  touch  our  interests ;  but  the  general  public 
were  content  to  treat  the  matter  with  indifference,  as  one  not 
yet  of  much  practical  concern  for  English  statesmanship.  Of 
late  years,  however,  circumstances  have  greatly  changed,  and  our 
knowledge  of  the  region  has  rapidly  accumulated.  The  advances 
of  Russia  and  her  swift  conquests  have  opened  up  the  country ;  and 
although  that  Government  may  not  desire  the  light  of  publicity, 
or  that  special  attention  should  be  drawn  to  its  movements  and 
actions,  still  the  march  of  troops,  the  conquest  of  large  territories, 
and  the  extension  of  commerce,  cannot  in  these  days  be  long 
kept  secret ;  and,  where  our  material  interests  may  be  affected, 
the  public  are  not  likely  to  remain  indifferent.     Consequently 

within 


552        The  Military  Position  of  Rtusia  in  Central  Asia. 

within  the  last  few  years  not  only  has  Central  Asia  been  a  fruitful 
topic  of  conversation,  of  writing,  and  of  study,  but  the  countij 
itself  has  been  penetrated  in  various  directions  by  travellers, 
who  have  collected  for  us  much  interesting  information  of  the 
people,  their  mode  of  life,  commerce,  military  power,  and  con- 
dition generally.  Instead  of  being  in  ignorance,  we  are  almost 
surfeited  with  an  abundance  of  knowledge.  In  the  general 
statements  of  facts,  the  various  accounts  virtually  agree;  bat 
when  we  proceed  to  consider  the  opinions  formed  as  to  the 
political  or  military  results  involved,  more  especially  in  regard 
to  the  advanctt  of  Russia,  we  are  met  by  considerable  differences 
and  widely  diverging  prophecies.  As  the  military  aspect  of 
the  question,  so  far  as  it  has  been  studied,  is  the  one  on  which 
opinions  seem  specially  divided,  whilst  a  true  appreciation  of  it 
is  by  far  the  most  essential  element  as  affecting  our  Empire  in 
the  East,  it  seems  possible  to  do  good  service  by  carefullj  re- 
garding the  circumstances  from  that  particular  point  of  view. 

The  old  southern  boundary  of  Russia  extended  from  the 
north  of  the  Caspian,  by  Orenburg  and  Orsk,  and  then  across 
to  the  old  Mongolian  city  of  Semipalatinsk,  and  was  guarded 
by  a  cordon  of  forts  and  Cossack  outposts.  This  line  was  no 
less  than  2000  miles  in  length,  and — 

*  abutted  on  the  great  Eirghis  steppe  along  its  northern  skirts,  and 
to  a  certain  extent  controlled  the  tribes  pasturing  in  the  viciniij,  but 
by  no  means  established  the  hold  of  Bussia  on  that  pathless,  am  for 
ttho  most  part  lifeless  waste.  .  .  . 

'It  was  in  1847,  contemporaneously  with  our  final  conquest  of  the 
PuDJab,  that  the  curtain  rose  on  the  aggressive  Bussian  drama  in 
Central  Asia,  which  is  not  yet  played  out.  Bussia  has  enjoyed  the 
nominal  dependency  of  the  Eirghis  Eassacks,  of  the  little  horde  who 
inhabited  the  western  division  of  the  great  steppe  since  1730 ;  bnt, 
except  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  Orenburg  line,  she  had  little 
real  control  over  the  tribes.  In  1847-48,  however,  she  erected  three 
important  fortresses  in  the  very  heart  of  the  steppe.  These  im- 
portant works — the  only  permanent  constructions  which  had  hitherto 
been  attempted  south  of  the  line — enabled  Bussia  for  the  first  time  to 
•dominate  tiie  western  portions  of  the  steppe,  and  to  command  the 
great  routes  of  communication  with  Central  Asia.  But  the  steppe 
forts  were,  after  all,  a  mere  means  to  an  end ;  they  formed  the  oon- 
necting  link  between  the  old  frontier  of  the  Empire  and  the  long- 
coveted  line  of  the  Jaxartes,  and  simultaneously  with  their  erection 
Arose  Fort  Aralsk,  near  the  embouchure  of  the  river.'  ♦ 

The  Russians  having  crossed  the  great  steppe  and  established 
themselves  on  the  Jaxartes  {Syr  Daria\  from  that  period  came 

♦  *  Quarterly  Review/  October  1865. 

permanently 


The  Military  Position  of  Russia  in  Central  Asia, 

permanently  in  contact  with  the  three  Khanates  of  Central  Asia, 
and  their  progress  and  conquests  durinf;  the  last  twenty  years  have 
been  comparatively  easy  and  rapid.  The  Principalities  have  no 
military  strength  which  can  long  withstand  the  advance  of  a  great 
Power.  Their  troops  and  those  of  Russia  have  been  repeatedly 
in  oonflict,  but  the  battles  have  been  trivial  in  a  military  sense 
and  the  broad  result  is  that  at  this  moment  the  Russians  are  in 
actual  possession  at  Kokan,  and  virtually  predominant  in  the 
other  two  Principalities,  although  they  have  not  deposed  the  rulers 
and  do  not  hold  the  capitals.  They  are  masters  on  the  Aral 
and  Caspian,  and  have  various  fortified  positions  on  the  eastern 
shore  of  the  latter.  Drawing  a  line  from  east  to  west,  their 
outposts  are  dotted  along  the  crests  of  the  Tian  Shan  Mountains, 
looking  down  upon  Kasbgar;  in  the  centre  their  frontier  almost 
touches  the  outlying  provinces  of  Afghanistan  which  lie  to  the 
north  of  the  Hindoo  Koosh ;  and  they  hold  a  naval  post  at 
Ashourada  in  the  Caspian,  close  to  the  Persian  shore,  and 
another  at  Chikisyiar,  on  the  Attrek,  the  boundary  between 
Persia  and  the  Turkoman  tribes  of  the  desert. 

The  distance  between  the  nearest  point  of  the  Russian  line  in 
Central  Asia  and  that  of  our  north-west  frontier  in  India  may 
be,  as  the  crow  flies,  about  400  miles.  What  we  have  to  regard 
is  the  fact  that  a  great  Power  within  thirty  years  has  virtually 
advanced  its  old  frontier  for  many  hundred  miles  southwards, 
rapidly  overrunning  the  couutry  like  a  tidal  wave  over  sands; 
absorbing  principalities  ;  establishing  forts  at  strategic  points  ; 
taking  possession  of  inland  seas,  routes,  and  river  communica- 
tions, until  its  advanced  outposts  not  only  approach  our  own, 
bat  are  on  the  very  confines  of  countries  which  may  be  con- 
sidered in  some  degree  under  our  own  influence,  or  with  whom 
Ve  are,  at  all  events,  intimately  and  naturally  associated,  namely, 
Afghanistan,  Persia,  and  Kashgaria.  Her  long  line  of  frontier 
IS  devious,  and  not  always  thoroughly  defined  ;  It  wanders  along 
tbe  crest  of  mountains,  is  marked  sometimes  by  the  course  of 
rivers,  and  occasionally  almost  lost  in  pathless  deserts. 

In  their  bare  outline  these  changes  are  certainly  no  matter  of 
indiSercQce  to  us  ;  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  doubts, 
or  even  uneasiness,  should  arise  ;  the  shadow  of  coming  events 
■eeming  to  throw  a  somewhat  sombre  hue  over  the  Kastern 
politics  of  the  future.  But  the  graver  the  circumstances,  the 
tnore  necessary  it  becomes  to  avoid  exaggeration  ;  and  whilst 
tiieir  military  aspect  is  full  of  interest,  it  is  not  necessarily  of  a 
bcwtile  character  as  regards  ourselves. 

There  is  one  material  point,  certainly,  of  difference  between 
the  present  and  the  past.     The  military  forces  of  a  great  Power 


554         The  Military  Position  of  Russia  in  Cenirai  Asia. 

are  in  comparative  proximity  to  our  Indian  Empire,  and  bold 
ground  until  lately  in  possession  of  Governments  which,   al- 
though usually   antagonistic,  had  no  real  means  of  executing^ 
evil  designs.     Their  influence  might  be  prejudicial,  but  could 
hardly  extend  within  our  border.     Admitting  the  change,  the 
questions  arise,  whether  the  presence  of  Russia  involves  danger 
to  ourselves  in  India?     Are  the  circumstances  such  as  render 
necessary  greater  military  precautions  on  our  part,  either  present 
or  prospective,  than  those  hitherto  deemed  requisite?     These 
questions  are   of  more  than  local  interest;   the  replies  must 
evidently  affect  the  relative  position  of  the  two  Powers,  not 
only  in  the  far  East,  but  wherever  they  may  be  brought  into 
contact.     This  matter  touches  the  real  point  at  issue.     We  need 
not,  so  far  as  the  present  purpose  is  concerned,  discuss  the 
causes  of  Russia's  advance ;  whether  it  is  the  result  of  the 
apocryphal  Will  of  Peter  the  Great,  or  of  the  military  ambition 
of  local  chiefs,  or  of  a  drifting  policy,  or  what  not ;  nor  need 
we  pause  now  to  consider  the  ultimate  effect  on  the  inhabitants 
of  the  conquered  regions.     What  we  have  to  determine  is  the 
result  on  our  own  position. 

Perhaps  the  most  striking  feature  of  the  Russian  invasion  is 
the  vast  extent  of  country  absorbed.  From  Orenburg  in  the 
north  to  Samarcand  in  the  south  is  more  than  1000  miles  in  a 
straight  line ;  and  from  the  Caspian  to  Kuldja  is  1500  miles. 
Increased  military  power  is  not,  however,  a  necessary  result  of 
extended  dominion.  The  annexation  of  a  country  well  peopled, 
fertile,  rich,  and  civilised,  and  whose  inhabitants  are  in  accord 
with  the  conquering  Power  in  race,  religion,  and  language,  may 
give  a  great  and  immediate  accession  of  strength ;  but  when 
none  of  these  conditions  are  fulfilled,  conquest  may  lead  to 
serious  military  weakness. 

The  population  of  Central  Asia,  in  proportion  to  its  extent^ 
is  not  only  extremely  sparse,  but,  owing  to  extensive  deserts,  and 
to  the  vicissitudes  of  climate,  the  people  are  nomadic  in  their 
habits.  Mr.  Schuyler  says,  *  that  the  whole  population  of  the 
Russian  province  of  Turkistan  is  estimated  at  about  1,600,000, 
of  whom  fully  1,000,000  are  nomads.'  Speaking  of  the  Turko- 
mans, Mr.  MacGahan  describes  them  as  the  bravest  and  most 
warlike  race  of  Central  Asia.  '  They  are,'  he  says,  *  a  nomadic 
people,  scattered  over  nearly  all  the  country  between  the  Oxus 
and  the  Caspian  as  far  east  as  Afghanistan,  and  as  far  south  as 
the  frontier  of  Persia  ;'  and  he  estimates  their  numbers  as  about 
110,000  souls.     Major  Wood  writes  : — 

'  Among  notions  still  current,  though  perhaps  less  so  than  foimerlj) 
and  which  tend  to  give  an  erroneous  idea  both  of  the  strength  and  of 

th» 


Tlie  Militarif  Position  of  Russia  in  Centra}  Asia.        555 

the  weakness  of  Russia  ia  Turkiston,  is  the  exaggorutioa  oftoa  met 
with  regarding  the  niuabora  of  the  subjcota  and  independent  popula- 
tion of  Central  Asia.  The  prestige  of  the  swanuiiig  millions  of  tho 
ancient  Tnranian  hordes  still  clings  to  the  locolitj,  and  in  a  tolerably 
recent  work  of  a  rcBpeotahle  Oriental  authority,  tho  population  of 
Bussian  TorkiBtan.  which  is  actually  two  millionB— of  whom  a  moiety 
are  nomadic  Kirghis — has  boon  stated  at  seven  millions.  The  peoples 
of  the  three  Khanates  are,  of  course,  inaccnratoly  known,  but  their 
numbers  are  suppoKed  to  be — Bokhara,  one  million ;  Eokan,  nine 
hundred  thouBand ;  Khiva  (without  the  independent  Turkoman  tribes), 
three  hundred  thousaJid :  so  that  all  Central  Asia,  excluding  Kashgar, 
doee  not  contain  more  than  four  and  a  quarter  millions  of  souls. 
The  statement  that  the  population  of  British  India  amounts  to  two 
hundred  and  twenty  millions  is  received  by  BuBsians  in  Central  Asia 
with  a  half  incredulous  and  a  half  envious  air  of  astonishment ;  oa 
well  as  the  still  more  striking  contrast  that  tho  whole  number  of 
Sritish  troops  controlling  these  millions  ia  only  double  that  of  tha 
iSnssian  forces  in  Tuikistan.' 

In  the  matter  of  population,  therefore,  we  find  at  once  a  re- 
-markable  contrast  between  our  Indian  territories  and  the  new 
conquests  of  Russia. 

The  power  of  conducting  warlike  oiwrations  on  a  great  scale, 
■g'ainst  a  distant  and  formidable  enemy,  depends  very  much  on 
facilities  of  communication  and  transport  for  bringing  up  re- 
serves and  munitions;  and  on  the  fertility  and  resources  of  the 
country  to  be  traversed  as  regards  supplies  of  food,  fuel,  and 
water.  In  discussing,  therefore,  the  possible  event  of  future 
danger  to  our  Eastern  possessions  from  the  southward  march  of 
-Russian  columns,  the  above  become  important  elements  for 
'consideration.  War  is  a  science  which  depends  for  its  success 
not  only  on  the  courage  of  well-armed,  disciplined  hosts,  but  on 
the  means  of  rapid  concentration  of  force  at  given  points.  The 
characteristics  of  Central  Asia,  bow^ever,  militate  against  its  use 
U  a  base  for  offensive  operations ;  and  some  of  these  character- 
istics are  such  as  time  will  not  alter  or  entirely  remove. 

Many  recent  sources  of  information  are  now  open  to  use  in 
illustration  of  these  remarks.  Captain  Bumaby,  who  travelled 
from  Orenburg  to  Khiva  in  the  winter  of  1875-6,  describes  the 
cold  of  the  Kirghis  desert  as  a  thing  unknown  even  in  the 
Arctic  regions,  '  An  enormous  expanse  of  flat  country,'  he 
•■ys,  'extending  for  hundreds  of  miles,  and  devoid  of  every- 
thing save  snoW  and  salt-lakes,  and  here  and  there  saksaool,  a 
•pecies  of  bramble-tree,  would  have  to  be  traversed  on  horse- 
Iwck  ere  Khiva  could  bo  reached.'  His  personal  experiences 
lamply  prove  the  enormous  difficulties  of  the  journey.  He 
suffered  intensely  from  cold  and  want  of  fuel,  had  to  carry  his 

provisions 


^56        The  Military  Position  of  Russia  in  Central  Asia. 

provisions  with  him,  was  imbedded  in  snow,  and  nearly  lost 

his    hands    by   frost-bite    between    Orenburg   and   Kasalinsk. 

Again,   he   describes  the  route   onwards   to  Khiva  across  the 

Kizil  Kum  desert  as  a   very  arduous  march,  which  required 

many  preparations  beforehand,  as  everything  had  to  be  taken 

in  the  shape  of  provisions — barley,  and  even  fuel,  and  bags  of 

jsnow  as  a  substitute  for  water.     He  adds,  ^  For  provisions  I  had 

supplied  myself  with  cabbage-soup  with  large  pieces  of  meat 

cut  up  in  it.     This,  poured  into  two  large  iron  stable-buckets, 

had  become  hard  frozen,  and  was  thus  easily  carried  on  the  back 

of  a  camel.'     As  he  remarks,  it  is  easy  from  these  details  to 

understand  Perofiski's  disaster  in  1839,  when,  in  marching  on 

Khiva,  he  lost  two-thirds  of  his  men,  nine  thousand  camels, 

.-and  an  immense  quantity  of  horses — the  cost  of  the  expedition 

amounting  to  about  one  million  sterling  ;  and  these  losses  were 

not  occasioned  by  fighting,  as  the  greater  part  of  Peroffski*s 

forces  never  saw  the  foe.     Mr.  MacGahan,  who  also  travelled  to 

JChiva  at  the  time  of  the  Russian  expedition  in  the  sununer  of 

1873,  speaks  of  the  fatigues  and  dangers  of  the  desert,  of  the 

fiery  glare  of  the  heated  atmosphere,  and  of  the  intense  suffe^ 

ings  of  himself  and  his  animals  from  want  of  water.     If  two 

enterprising  gentlemen,  of  great  courage  and  determination,  aie 

only  enabled  to  reach  Khiva,  the  one  in  winter  and  the  other  in 

4Bummer,  after  undergoing  hardships  and  sufferings  which  almost 

amount   to   the   heroic,  we   may  fairly  conclude  that  Central 

Asian  routes  are  hardly  adapted  for  the  rapid  march  of  armies^ 

encumbered  as  they  must  ever  be  with  vast  impedimenta  in  the 

shape  of  food,  munitions,  and  stores. 

Mr.  Schuyler  was  at  Orenburg,  going  south,  in  1873,  shortl>^ 
after  the  Russian  column  had  left  on  its  march  to  Khiva.    H 
speaks  of  the  troops  as  having  been  conveyed  in  sledges  to  tb 
Emba.      His   own  journey  southwards  across   the  steppe  wa^ 
difficult,  on  account  of  the  state  of  the  roads  from  snow  anc-^ 
mud,  and  at  one  time  he  had  no  less  than  eight  horses  hamessec^ 
to  his  tarantasse.     He  describes  the  Sea  of  Aral  as  a  veritable 
waste  of  waters  ;  its  surroundings  as  utterly  desolate  and  unin- 
habited; and  the  navigation  of  the  Syr  Daria  difficult,  froinr^ 
shoals,  strong  currents,  and  scarcity  of  fuel.     It  has  been  pro-^" 
posed  to  construct  a  railway  from  Orenburg  to  Samarcand,  up 
wards  of  1000  miles  long ;  but  Mr.  Schuyler  points  out  that  th^ 
cost  of  construction,  and  especially  of  running  it,  would  b^ 
immense  from  lack  of  water  and  fuel ;  further,  that  it  woulrf 
pass  through  a  country  the  greater  part  of  which  is  almost  ua— 
inhabited.     The  above  remarks  apply  chiefly  to  the  main  rout^ 
from  Orenburg  southwards. 


The  Military  Position  of  Russia  in  Central  Asia.        55T 

e  elaborate  precautions  found  necessary  by  the  Russians  in^ 
Khivan  campaign  of  1873  are  strong  evidences  of  the 
ment  difficulties  of  making  war  in  the  midst  of  deserts^ 
ugh  the  military  power  of  the  enemy  was  known  to  be  of 
g  account,  it  was  still  considered  necessary  to  march  upoa 
X  in  four  columns  from  each  point  of  the  compass,  and  the 
^ments  required  months  of  previous  preparation.  The 
nts  state  that  the  total  force  numbered  about  11,000  men, 
dve  of  non-combatants.  The  troops  had  to  traverse  vast 
ises  of  sandy  steppe  absolutely  barren,  and  affording  na 
ies  whatever,  not  even  water  in  many  cases.  The  campaign 
d  entirely  on  transport,  and  it  is  stated  that  upwards  of 
0  camels  were  employed  for  the  purpose,  in  addition  to 
numbers  of  horses.  The  troops  suffered  greatly  from  the 
;es  in  climate.  In  the  earlier  part  of  the  expedition  the 
of  the  Djizak  column  were  in  danger  of  being  frozen  to 
,  and  not  long  afterwards  had  to  cross  the  desert  with  the 
IOmeter  at  132°.  That  from  the  Caspian  was  nearly  lost  ia 
esert,  and  was  compelled  to  return,  never  having  reached 

a  military  sense  the  Khivan  expedition  was  a  creditable 
in  so  far  that  the  means  were  carefully  devised  to  accom- 
the  required  purpose.  But  if  such  careful  precautions  are 
sary  for  the  attack  of  a  feeble  Power,  and  one  comparatively 
n  reach  of  the  main  resources  of  the  Russian  Empire^. 
3  means  of  defence  are  far  more  dependent  on  Nature  than, 
en,  we  can  deduce  from  them  valuable  data  as  to  Russiaa 
Dilities  of  success  in  operating  in  a  far  more  distant  scene, 
igainst  a  foe  incomparably  more  powerful.  It  must  not, 
eer,  be  inferred  that  the  whole  of  Central  Asia  is  a  howling 
mess,  almost  impassable  in  winter  from  extreme  cold  and 
,  and  in  summer  from  intense  heat  and  deficiency  of  water. 
3  are  districts,  chiefly  those  lying  along  the  course  of  the 
(,  which,  more  or  less  cultivated  and  fruitful,  contain  large 
lourishing  cities,  the  centres  of  a  restricted  commerce,  and 
in  possession  of  Russia.  But  the  deserts  are  so  extensive 
dde-spread,  that  they  everywhere  encroach  upon  and  isolate 
exceptional  tracts  of  fertility.  The  Russians  consequently 
hat  no  expedition  can  be  undertaken  without  being  met  by 
ifficulties  already  described  ;  and  their  military  occupation 
;essarily  limited  to  a  series  of  comparatively  small  detach- 
s  and  fortified  posts,  often  at  considerable  distances  apart 
he  armaments,  munitions,  and  stores,  which  go  to  render 
rmy  efficient,  and  which  are  essential  to  the  safety  of  its 
on,  have  to  be  transported  for  many  hundreds  of  miles  at 


S58        The  Military  Pasition^f  Russia  in  Central  Asia. 

great  cost  of  time  and  money,  and  the  farther  the  Russians 
advance  the  greater  these  difficulties  naturally  become,  and 
the  weaker  also  becomes  their  position  as  a  whole.  The  late 
Lord  Strangford,*  writing  in  1868,  spoke  of  the  position  of 
the  Russians  as  follows : — 

'  Their  main  difficulty  for  the  present  is  the  impracticable  nature, 
in'  a  military  sense,  of  the  country  of  steppe  and  desert,  which  sepa- 
rates them  from  Russia  proper,  necessarily  their  only  secure  base  of 
operations.  This  difficulty  is  not  insuperable  by  any  means ;  bnt  it 
is  enough  to  make  the  work  of  keeping  open  communication  and 
reinforcing  the  army  extremely  costly  and  troublesome,  not  to  mj 
precarious  at  times.' 

It  is  stated  that  the  force  of  Russians  in  Central  Asia  amounts 
to  about  30,000  soldiers,  frittered  away  over  vast  tracts  of 
country,  and  incapable  of  concentration.  Mr.  Schuyler,  how- 
ever, says  that,  since  the  war  in  Khiva  and  the  capture  of 
Kokan,  a  considerable  increase  has  taken  place,  and  he  gives 
the  total  as  about  40,000  men.  Major  Wood  tells  us  that  every 
round  shot  brought  to  Central  Asia  is  computed  to  have  cost 
nearly  2Z.  in  transport  Sir  Henry  Rawlinson  in  1868  said 
that  it  took  reinforcements  upwards  of  one  year  to  reach  the 
advanced  Russian  outposts.  Military  arrangements  such  as 
those  just  described  are  probably  sufficient  to  maintain  order  in 
a  region,  the  inhabitants  of  which  are  distracted  by  internal  feuds, 
and  of  no  collective  strength  ;  but  it  is  also  apparent  that  a  country 
held  on  these  conditions  is  not  adapted  as  a  basis  for  further 
operations  in  advance  against  a  powerful  Empire  like  India. 

If  we  consider  money  as  one  of  the  *  sinews  of  war,'  the 
Russians  in  Central  Asia  are  in  rather  sorry  plight — the  country 
does  not  pay.  Major  Wood  says  that  official  figures  regarding 
the  financial  position  of  the  Russian  possessions  in  Central  Asia 
are  difficult  to  obtain,  and  are  not  very  trustworthy ;  but  for  the 
four  years  previous  to  1872  they  show  a  deficit  of  about  three 
millions  sterling. 

*  Since  that  date  the  Khiva  campaign  has  taken  place,  and  a  fnrther 
annual  deficit  has  occurred  from  the  occupation  of  the  Amn-Daria 
district.  Probably  the  revenue  may  suffice  to  meet  the  more  strictlj 
civil  charges  of  the  Turkistan  Government;  leaving  the  military 
ones  to  be  a  charge  to  the  general  revenues  of  Russia.  •  .  •  An  «&' 
tirely  independent  authority  stated  the  yearly  deficit  to  be,  say  ooa 
million  sterling.' 

Mr.  Schuyler  writes : — 

'  Central  Asia  was  thought  to  bo  a  rich  country,  and  was  regard^ 

*  *  A  Selection  from  the  Writings  of  YiBCOunt  Strangford.'    1869.       . 

aIjbosi 


The  Military  Position  of  Russia  in  Central  Asia.        559 

^almost  as  a  promised  land.  It  was  bolieyed  that  not  only  wonld  it 
support  the  troops  stationed  there,  bat  that  it  would  also  afford  large 
and  increasing  reyenues  to  the  Goyemment.  What  I  haye  said  in 
a  preyious  chapter  about  the  commerce,  agriculture,  and  mineral 
resources  of  the  country  will  show  how  far  this  was  in  reality  from 
being  the  case.  .  •  .  The  primary  objects  which  led  to  the  occupation 
of  Central  Asia  were  military  rather  than  financial ;  and  as  long  as 
the  proyince  is  considered  yaluable  from  a  military  and  political  point 
of  yiew  the  fiimncial  burden  must  be  borne.  It  seems,  howeyer, 
difficult  to  expect  great  ultimate  profit  from  the  country  from  any 
point  of  yiew.* 

Again — 

*  It  may  not  perhaps  be  necessary  that  the-  proyince  of  Turkistan 
should  be  able  to  pay  the  whole  expense  of  its  Ooyemment,  but  in 
ihat  case  the  question  must  necessanly  arise  to  eyery  reflecting  man, 
What  are  the  adyantages  resulting  from  the  occupation  of  the  pro- 
yince which  counterbalance  so  great  an  additional  expense  ? 

A  consideration  of  recent  Russian  conquests,  and  of  her 
present  position  in  Central  Asia,  renders  it  rather  difficult  to 
understand  the  indefinable  alarm  which  from  time  to  time  arises 
in  this  country,  and  which  eyen  appears  to  be  shared  by  a 
certain  number  of  military  men.  As  the  late  Lord  Strangford 
aaid,  we  are  constantly  oscillating  between  utter  neglect  of  the 
subject  and  raying  panic.  If  the  general  review  of  the  military 
position  which  has  just  been  given  is  correct,  it  would  seem  to 
follow  that  the  great  Northern  Power  holds  but  a  precarious 
tenure  of  the  ground  it  stands  on,  and  that  a  farther  advance 
will  certainly  not  tend  to  'its  greater  security.  Captain  Bumaby, 
in  his  interesting  volume,  quotes  a  Russian  authority,  who 
belieyes  that  their  Central  Asian  possessions  will  serve  as  a 
halting-place  on  which  to  rest  and  gather  fresh  strength.  But, 
it  may  be  asked,  where  are  the  elements  of  renewed  vigour  to  be 
found  ?  They  do  not  exist  in  the  country,  and  we  do  not  hear 
that  Russia  has  ventured  to  raise  a  single  regiment  from  the 
population  of  the  conquered  districts.  Captain  Bumaby,  whilst 
he  gives  an  opinion  that  Russia  has  not  now  the  power  of  even 
threatening  India,  goes  on  to  point  out  that  by  annexing  certain 
points  in  advance,  she  would  form  a  splendid  basis  for  opera- 
tions against  Hindostan.  He  names  Kashgar,  Balkh,  and 
Merve,  as  ^  three  magnificent  dtapesJ  He  does  not  appear, 
however,  to  have  been  within  many  hundred  miles  of  any  of 
these  places,  and  therefore  his  views  are  not  derived  from  per- 
sonal experience.  Kasbgar,  the  capital  of  Chinese  Turkistan, 
stands  in  a  plain  bounded  on  the  north  by  the  Tian  Shan  Moun- 
tains, which  form  a  natural,  though  not  an   insurmountable, 

barrier. 


560        The  Military  Position  of  Russia  in  Central  Asia. 

barrier,  between  it  and  the  Russians  in  Kokan.  On  the  west  it 
is  shut  in  by  the  high  lands  of  the  Pamir,  and  on  the  south  are 
the  vast  ranges  of  the  Himalayas  separating  it  from  Hindostan. 
We  have  gained  such  complete  information  within  the  last  few 
years  as  to  the  extraordinary  difficulties  of  the  routes  from 
Chinese  Turkistan  to  the  plains  of  India,  that  it  is  singular  the 
idea  should  still  be  entertained  of  any  possible  danger  from  that 

?uarter.     Dr.  Cayley,  our  special  agent  at  Ladak,  writing  m 
868,  describes  the  road  from  Yarkand  to  Leh  as  follows : — * 

'  The  distance  is  about  350  miles,  or  thirty  marches,  and  the  road  . 
goes  over  five  high  passes,  the  lowest  nearly  18,000  feet,  and  three  of 
them  are  covered  with  perpetual  snow  or  glaciers,  and  the  road  is  so 
bad,  and  the  difficulties 'so  great,  that  nearly  twenty  per  cent,  of  the 
horses  die  on  the  journey.  On  nearly  all  the  passes,  too,  the  mer- 
chandise has  to  be  transferred  from  tiiie  horses  to  yaks.  The  meet 
intense  cold  has  to  he  endured,  and  great  obstructions  are  met  with 
from  large,  unbridged  rivers.' 

• 

A  traveller  at  Leh  is  still  several  hundred  miles  from  the 
plains  of  India,  and  the  fatigues  and  perils  of  the  journey  are 
by  no  means  at  an  end.  Other  routes  have  since  been  traversed 
besides  that  described  by  Dr.  Cay  ley;  but  recent  experience 
quite  confirms  this  general  view  of  the  journey,  and  makes  it 
evident  that  as  a  road  for  a  military  invasion,  or  even  threat  of 
India,  it  is  out  of  the  question.  Sir  Henry  Rawlinson  sajs, 
^  that  in  all  history  there  is  no  instance  of  an  invader  having^ 
ever  attempted  to  descend  upon  India  either  by  the  Polu  or  the 
Chang-Chemmo  route  from  Eastern  Turkistan.'  The  late 
Lord  Strangford  considered  the  apprehension  of  danger  from 
the  north-east  '  a  gratuitous  and  wanton  scare.'  Nature,  indeed, 
has  effectually  barred  approach  in  that  quarter. 

Balkh  is  a  city  situated  in  the  outlying  provinces  of  Afghan- 
istan to  the  north  of  the  Hindoo  Koosh,  and  could  only  become 
an  '  ^tape  *  by  the  conquest  of  territory  which  now  belongs  to 
the  Ameer  of  Cabool,  our  ally.  It  is  considerably  south  of  the 
farthest  point  yet  reached  by  Russia,  and  the  chief  road  to 
Cabool  crosses  over  the  Hindoo  Koosh  by  the  Bamian  pass 
over  12,000  feet  high,  which  is  difficult  at  all  times,  and  is 
blocked  by  snow  in  winter.  Between  Cabool  and  the  plains  of 
India  other  great  difficulties  would,  of  course,  have  to  be  en- 
countered, so  that  there  is  nothing  promising  in  an  attempted 
invasion  from  that  point. 

The  position  of  Merve  is  frequently  dwelt  upon  by  those 
who  look  with  apprehension  at  Kussian  progress,  and  antici- 

*  '  Eastern  TorkiBtaii  '—Parliamentary  Paper,  Xo.  884.    Slat  Jnly,  1869. 

pate 


The  Military  Position  of  Russia  in  Central  Asia,        561 

pate  a  conflict  some  day  between  England  and  Russia  in 
the  East  Standing  on  the  margin  of  the  desert,  about  240 
miles  north  of  Herat,  and  in  comparatively  easy  communication 
with  it  along  the  valley  of  the  Murghab,  it  undoubtedly  has 
importance  so  far  that  it  is  on  one  of  the  roads  leading  through 
the  mountains  to  India.  Opinions,  however,  differ  as  to  its 
value  as  a  strategical  point.  Mr.  Schuyler,  in  his  account  of 
the  recent  excursions  of  Russian  troops  in  the  deserts  east  of  the 
Caspian,  and  of  their  dealings  with  the  Turkomans,  describes 
Merve  as  a  half-ruined  village  in  the  Tekke  oasis,  and  holds 
•the  opinion  that,  even  in  case  of  war,  it  could  never  be  more 
•than  a  base  of  supplies.  Lord  Strangford  said,  ^  It  must  always 
have  been  surrounded  by  deserts,  however  much  greater  must 
iiave  been  the  proportion  of  fertile  lands  in  ancient  times,  irri- 
gated by  means  of  the  Murghab.' 

Colonel  Baker,  who  travelled  lately  in  the  northern  part  of 
Persia,  is  a  great  alarmist.  He  says,  ^  The  dangers  threaten- 
ing India  are  looming  nearer  and  nearer,  and  nothing  has  yet 
been  done  to  meet  or  to  avert  them ;'  and  he  concludes  his  book 
by  affirming,  ^  that  we  are  content  to  leave  the  safety  of  the 
^;reatest  empire  the  world  has  ever  seen  to  the  hazards  of  chance 
or  the  mercies  of  our  enemies.'  Alluding  to  Merve,  he  holds 
the  view  that,  whilst  Herat  is  the  key  of  India,  Merve  is  the 
key  of  ^Herat.  Sir  Henry  Rawlinson,*  who  also  discusses  the 
advance  of  Russia  eastwards  over  the  deserts  from  the  south  of 
the  Caspian,  looks  upon  the  natural  advantages  of  Merve  as  of 
the  highest  order,  and  considers  that,  when  her  influence  is 
established  and  Merve  in  her  possession,  ^then,  and  not  till 
then,  would  the  danger  of  collision  with  England  assume  a 
tangible  form ' — that  ^  the  mere  fact  of  Russian  troops  being 
stationed  in  any  considerable  number  at  Merve  would  hie  fraught 
with  such  peril  to  our  Indian  interests  that  we  could  not  remain 
passive  even  if  we  wished.'  But,  on  the  other  hand,  an  article 
in  a  contemporary  Review  t  known  to  have  been  written  by  the 
late  General  Lord  Sandhurst,  describes  Merve  as  a  mere  desert 
village,  and  disputes  the  idea  of  its  strategical  importance,  or 
that  its  possession  by  Russia  would  be  a  menace  to  England. 

It  is  interesting  to  consider  the  opinions  formed  by  various 
authorities  regarding  the  importance  of  Merve,  which  is  evidently 
Looked  upon  by  many  as  the  entrance  of  one  of  the  chief  avenues 
leading  to  the  still  distant  plains  of  Hindostan.  Assuming  that 
Russian  troops  had  arrived  on  the  scene,  there  would  still 
Bippear  no  real  cause  for  alarm.     A  General  at  Merve,  even  if 

*  '  England  and  Russia  in  the  East,'  Sir  Henry  Rawlinson,  1875. 
t  *  Ei^land  and  Bnaaia  in  the  East,'  *  Edinburgh  Beview,'  July  1875. 
Vol.  143. — No.  286.  2  O  supported 


562         The  Military  Position  of  Russia  in  Central  Asia. 

supported  by  a  considerable  force,  would  be  in  no  very  enYiable- 
position.     Standing  in  a  village  on  the  verge  of  a  g^at  desert,  he 
would  have  before  him  the  wild  mountainous  country  of  Afghan- 
istan, poor  in  resources  as  regards  his  contemplated  advance, 
but  rich  in  brave  enemies  devoted  to  that  religion  of  which 
they  consider  the  Russians  the  bitterest  enemies  ;  and,  again, 
far  behind   these  Afghans,  who  may  be  looked  upon  as  the 
advanced  guard  of  India's  defence,  would  stand  the  armies  of 
the  greatest  Power  in  the  East — England.     The  experience  we 
gained  during  the  Umbeylah  campaign  of  1863  affords  proof 
of  the  difficulties  which  a  Russian  General  would  be  likely  to 
encounter  on  entering  Afghanistan.     On  the  occasion  in  ques- 
tion, a  British  force  of  several  thousand  men,  commanded  bv  a 
most  distinguished  and  experienced  officer  (Sir  Neville  Cham- 
berlain), penetrated  only  a  few  miles  into  the  fringe  of  moun- 
tains which  environ  our  North- West  frontier,  near  Peshawar; 
and  after  their  first  day's  march  found  themselves  jammed  in  the 
gorge  of  a  pass,  surrounded  by  fanatical  Mahommedans,  and 
for  several  weeks  remained  there  unable  to  advance  or  retreat. 
The  force  had  to  fight  a  series  of  almost  hand-to-hand  combats 
to  maintain  its  ground,  and  was  only  able  at  last  to  carry  out  its 
purpose  and  return  to  the  plains  after  having  received  strong' 
reinforcements ;  and  all  this  occurred  within  ten  miles  of  our 
own  frontier.     But  if  a  Russian  General  at  Merve  might  well 
feel  anxiety  at  the  prospect  before  him,  that  in  his  rear  woulA 
be  still  more  disquieting.     Looking  back,  he  would  only  find 
a  desolate  region,  thinly  inhabited  by  hostile  predatory  tribes,  ^ 
region  without  roads,  devoid  of  food,  and  often  even  of  water  V 
whilst  the  resources  of  the  Empire,  from  whence  alone  he  could 
hope  to  obtain  reserves  and  munitions  of  war,  would  be  so  many 
hundreds  of  miles  beyond  his  reach  as  to  be  almost  impossibles* 
realisation.      If  military   principles    have    any   foundation  vf^ 
experience,  if  the  science  of  war  rests  on  any  fixed  and  definite 
maxims,  a  General  at  Merve,  under  the  circumstances  supposed  ^ 
would  inevitably  feel  that  his  position  violated  them  all,  and  tha-'^ 
advance  or  retreat  would  be  equally  perilous. 

In   considering   the  possible  designs  of  Russia,  it  may 
argued  that  there  are  other  means  of  advance  on  India  beside-^ 
the  routes  which  lead  southwards  directly  through  Central  Asi^* 
It  is  oft(»n  assumed  that,  with  the  Caspian  in  their  possession^ 
its  waters  are  available  for  the  transport  of  armies  from  AstrakatJ 
on  the  Volga,  and  that,  by  landing  at  Astrabad,  and  marching' 
through  the  north  of  Persia  and  Afghanistan,  they  might  thtt* 
accomplish    their  purpose.      A  proposal  of  the   kind   was,  i^ 

seems,  put  forward  by  General  Duhamel  to  the  Emperor  Nicholas 

at 


The  Military  Position  of  Russia  in  Central  Asia.       563 

kt  the  time  of  the  Crimean  war;*  and  as  the  circumstances,  so 
iair  as  the  Caspian  is  concerned,  are  much  the  same  now  as  then, 
t  maj  be  worth  while  to  analyse  his  views,  of  which  the  foUow- 
ng  quotation  will  give  a  sufficient  outline : — 

*  History  records  that  nearly  all  the  conquerors  of  India  came  from 
Central  Asia  and  Persia.  The  roads  chosen  for  this  purpose  by 
Alexander  the  Great,  Gengis  Elhan,  Timur  Khan,  Baber  Sultan,  and 
!^adir  Shah,  are  open  to  t£as  day.  Whether  proceeding  from  Persia 
»r  the  Oxus,  all  these  roads  converge  upon  Ehorassan  and  Af- 
ghanistan ;  Candahar  and  Gabul  are  the  doors  of  India. 

*  The  roads  at  our  disposal  are  these  : 

*  (1.)  From  Orenburg  to  the  Ust-Urt  and  Ehiva,  and  further  on  to 
[Tabul  by  way  of  Merve,  Herat,  and  Gandahar. 

*  (2.)  From  Orsk  or  Orenburg  to  Aralsk,  Bokhara,  Balkh,  Eulum, 
ftnd  Gabul. 

'  (3.)  From  Orsk  or  Troitsk  to  Aralsk,  Ak  Meshed,  Tashkend, 
Ehakfloi,  Eulum,  Bamian,  and  Gabul. 

'(4.)  From  Astrakhan  by  sea  to  Astrabad,  and,  further  on,  by 
Eadasan  or  Shamid  to  Meshed,  Herat,  Gandahar,  and  Gabul. 

'  (5.^  From  Julfa,  on  the  Arazee,  to  Tabriz,  Teheran,  Meshid,  Herat, 
Oandanar,  and  GabuL 

'  The  first  three  roads  traverse  the  whole  breadth  of  the  steppe. 
Eren  if  we  could  rely  upon  being  assisted  by  the  inhabitants  of 
Ehiva  and  Bokhara,  many  thousands  of  camels  would  be  required  to 
OMTy  provisions. 

*  The  fourth  and  fifth  roads  lie  through  regions  which,  nowhere 
^tirely  barren,  are  in  some  places  uncommonly  fertile,  and  inhabited 
7  sedentary  tribes.  They  neither  encounter  the  insurmountable 
)A88es  of  the  Hindu  Eush,  nor  the  broad  and  deep  stream  of  the 

'  If  the  necessary  number  of  transports  can  be  collected  in  the 
•^i^^ian,  the  Astraldian-Astrabad  route  is  the  most  convenient  of  alL 
^t  18  a  i^ort  cut  to  the  East,  and  Astrabad  being  situate  on  the 
'orders  of  Ehorassan,  there  ^remain  only  1840  versts  (about  1300 
JMlee)  to  Gabul. 

*  Perhaps  infantry,  artillery,  and  ammunition  might  be  sent  by  sea, 
^  cavalry  and  commissariat  trains  marching  from  Transcaucasia 
Tiflig^  through  Persia.  To  march  through  Turkestan  would  be 
"^i^Serous,  the  Ehans  and  people  being  sure  to  rise  up  against  us  in 
^Tii  roar,  attack  our  stragglers,  and  menace  our  communications ;  to 
^<>a8  Persia  is  safe.  A  half-civilised  country,  utterly  incapable  of 
^'^l^tance,  and  bound  to  us  by  treaties,  Persia  can  be  easily  kept  in 
I^Qck  by  our  troops  in  the  Transcaucasian  provinces.  No  doubt 
^plomacy  will  suffice  to  make  Persia  grant  us  magazines,  camels,  and 
•oe  means  of  sure  and  safe  communication.  More  than  this  we  do 
^  want.  Were  we  to  try  and  enlist  Persian  troops  on  our  side,  the 
^Qiidly  enmity  existing  between  them  and  the  Afghans  would  deprive 

*  *  Times'  Ck)rre8poiident,  Berlin,  Jan.  26tb,  1873. 

2  0  2  OS 


564        The  Militanf  Position  of  Russia  in  Central  Asia. 

• 
ns  of  the  assistance  of  tbe  latter.    But  an  Afghan  allianoc  is  tlie 
sine  qua  rum  of  success. 

'  Naturally,  England  would  take  her  precautions  against  us.  The 
English  might  land  in  the  Gulf  of  Persia,  occupy  the  Isle  of  Eank 
or  Bendri-Bushir,  and  stir  up  the  south  Persian  tribes  against  the 
Shah.    But  all  this  would  be  of  no  avail.' 

It  will  be  observed  that  General  Duhamel  confirms  all  that 
has  already  been  urged  as  to  the  enormous  difficulties  of  the 
purely  Central  Asian  routes,  so  that  they  need  not  be  further 
considered.  The  most  convenient  route,  according  to  his  judg^ 
ment,  is  that  across  the  Caspian ;  but  the  manner  in  which  he 
glides  over  the  real  difficulties  in  the  c^se  is  as  simple  as  it  is 
amusing.  We  are  first  of  all  to  assume  that  a  sufficient  annj 
has  been  brought  down  the  Volga*  and  assembled  at  Astrakhan. 
If  (as  he  says)  the  necessary  number  of  transports  can  then  be 
collected  in  the  Caspian,  it  would  serve  as  a  short  cut  to  the 
East.  But,  according  to  Colonel  Baker,  the  Russian  ships  in 
that  sea  at  the  present  time  are  neither  numerous  nor  large, 
although  steamers  of  a  class  better  adapted  for  the  transport  of 
troops  are  sprjnging  up.  We  have  considerable  experience  of 
the  number  of  vessels  which  were  found  necessary  to  take  onlj 
25,000  English  soldiers,  with  their  horses,  guns,  and  munitions, 
from  Varna  to  the  Crimea,  across  the  Black  Sea,  in  1854,  and 
can  therefore  readily  appreciate  the  requirements  for  a  voyage 
of  about  800  miles,  and  for  an  army  such  as  would  be  necessarv 
to  invade  India. 

Assuming,    again,    its   safe   arrival    at   Astrabad,    it  would, 
according  to   General   DuhameFs   own    account,   still  have  to 
march  about  1300  miles  to  Cabul ;  and  even  then  it  would  not 
only  be  a  long  way  from  India,  but  would  have  a  very  poor  and 
rugged  country  to  pass  through.     He  igpiores  the  fact  that  the 
resources  of  the  country  from  Astrabad  to  Herat,  Cabul,  and 
India,  are  in  many  parts  incapable  of  meeting  the  wants  of  » 
large  force ;  so  that  the  Russian  columns  must  be  feebly  es' 
tended  along  the  various  routes.    He  makes  light  of  the  possible 
opposition  of  Persia  t  and  of  the  power  of  England  to  supp<>^ 
her,  and  to  act  upon  the  flank  of  the  Russian  advancing  columta^ 
from  the  Persian  Gulf,  &c.     But  it  is  really  not  worth  whil^ 
pursuing  this  part  of  the  subject  any  further.     Of  course,  b^ 


*  The  navigation  of  the  Volga  is  closed  hy  ioe  for  about  six  montha  of  the . 

t  Major  Murdoch  Smith,  R.E.,  who  served  some  vears  in  Persia,  in  a  lecto^^ 
at  the  United  Service  Institution,  in  1873  (vol.  Ixxi/,  speaking  of  the  importaa^'* 
of  our  maintaining  a  friendly  alliance  with  Persia,  points  out  that  her  inter^' 
and  our  own  are  identical.    He  further  teUs  us  that  the  general  feeling  towtrpj[ 
us  is  friendly,  and  hostile  to  Russia,  and  that  the  presence  of  a  BussiaD  ksee 
would  be  intensely  distasteful. 

imuiniUf 


i 


The  Military  Position  of  Russia  in  Central  Asia.         565 

gnoring  distances  and  difficulties,  by  assuming  that  armies  can 
je  transported  with  facility  across  great  inland  seas,  and  can 
narch  for  many  hundreds  of  miles  through  comparatively  poor 
countries,  which,  moreover,  belong  to  others,  bv  shutting  one's 
jyes  to  every  maxim  of  war  and  of  policy,  it  is  easy  to  carry 
out  imaginary  invasions  on  paper.  Even  General  Duhamel's 
[confidence,  however,  deserts  him  at  the  last,  as  he  only  antici- 
pates being  able  to  reach  the  plains  of  Hindostan  with  ^a 
moderate  force,  just  strong  enough  to  form  the  nucleus  of  a 
^neral  insurrection.'  But  why  India  should  rise  in  insurrec- 
tion at  the  sight  of  a  few  exhausted  Russians  emerging  from 
the  passes  of  Afghanistan  it  is  hard  to  understand.  Other 
raggestions  have  been  put  forward  as  to  possible  means  and 
routes  of  invasion  from  the  westward.  The  army  of  the 
Caucasus  is  sometimes  quoted  as  available,  and  it  is  supposed 
that  by  crossing  the  Caspian  an  advance  might  be  made  from 
lome  of  the  Russian  positions  on  its  eastern  shores,  north  of 
the  Attrek.  But*  the  troops  in  the  Caucasus  have  duties  and 
responsibilities  of  their  own,  and  can  hardly  be  spared  for  a 
Quixotic  expedition  to  a  very  distant  scene.  Even  were  they 
to  attempt  it,  they  would  have  to  move  through  a  difficult 
country  from  Tiflis  to  the  Caspian ;  and  having  crossed,  would 
then  plunge  into  deserts,  and  march  by  routes  far  more  difficult 
even  than  those  already  alluded  to  from  Astrabad.  Colonel 
Baker  tells  us  that  the  whole  of  the  country  south  of  the  Oxus 
'  is  a  vast  desert  from  the  shores  of  the  Caspian,  extending  right 
away  towards  Balkh.' 

We  have  thus  at  some  length  analysed  the  progress,  present 
position,  and  future  military  prospects  of  Russia  in  her  newly- 
acquired  provinces,  and  have  attempted  to  show  how  barren 
they  are  as  to  population,  revenue,  and  supplies;  and  how 
deficient,  in  the  essential  requirements  of  armies,  as  regards 
roads,  means  of  transport,  and  power  of  concentration.  Many 
of  these  defects  are  in  a  measure  permanent,  which  is  an  im- 
portant consideration ;  and  they  are  aggravated  by  the  vast 
extent  of  the  country,  and  by  the  hostility,  more  or  less  con- 
^^led,  of  its  inhabitants.  It  will  be  interesting  to  quote 
Mr.  Schuyler  on  these  points.  *  Central  Asia,'  he  says,  *has 
^^  store  of  wealth  and  no  economical  resources :  neither  by  its 
^S^cultural,  nor  by  its  mineral  wealth,  nor  by  its  commerce, 
'WW  by  the  revenue  to  be  derived  from  it,  can  it  ever  repay  the 
Russians  for  what  it  has  already  cost,  and  for  the  rapidly- 
^creasing  expenditure  bestowed  upon  it.'  Alluding  to  the 
^Qexation  of  Kokan,  he  speaks  '  of  the  hatred  which  has 
pown  up  of  recent  years  to  the  Russians,  and  the  dislike  of 

falling 


566        TTie  Military  Position  of  Russia  in  Central  Asia, 

falling  under  their  rule.'  The  country  has  been  ravaged  by 
Russian  generals,  and  he  further  points  out  that  the  relations 
with  Bokhara  are  by  no  means  friendly. 

Sir  Henry  Rawlinson  also  tells  us  Hhat  no  one  questions 
but  that  the  gei^ral  feeling  at  Bokhara  is  intensely  hostile  to 
Russia.'  He  adds,  that  in  November,  1872,  *  some  very  inter- 
esting letters  appeared  in  the  St.  Petersburg  "Golos,"  from 
the  pen  of  Mr.  Kaefiski,  who  had  resided  some  time  in  Tash- 
kend ;  and  of  Mr.  Maeff,  the  editor  of  the  '^  Turkestan  Gazette," 
which  gave  an  alarming  account  of  the  state  of  the  public 
feeling  among  the  Mahommedan  subjects  of  Russia  in  Central 
Asia  at  that  period.' 

Leaving  Central  Asia,  we  may  now  consider  the  position  of 
England  in  Hindostan.  Here  we  are  met  at  once  by  conditions 
of  an  almost  entirely  opposite  character.  Its  population,  reye- 
nues,  commerce,  and  wealth,  as  compared  with  those  of  the 
provinces  recently  acquired  by  Russia,  are  enormous.  Vast  as 
the  country  is,  the  general  features  and  frontiers  are  such,  that 
it  forms,  as  it  were,  a  gigantic  natural  fortress,  bounded  on  two 
sides  by  the  sea,  of  which  we  have  the  command,  and  on  the 
third  by  chains  of  the  highest  mountains  in  the  world.  There 
is  literally  but  one  part  at  which  it  is  open  to  external  attack, 
namely  in  the  north-west,  and  even  here  the  Hindoo  Koosh, 
which  runs  away  westward,  forms  a  gpreat  barrier,  including 
within  its  protection  the  greater  part  of  Afghanistan,  a  very 
poor  rugged  country,  inhabited  by  a  race  of  brave  Mahomme- 
dans.  The  difficulties  of  Russian  advance  in  this  direction, 
and  the  long  marches  necessary  through  inhospitable  regions, 
have  already  been  described,  so  that  we  are  really  almost  inac- 
cessible from  without. 

Of  the    various  races   which    inhabit  Hindostan,   many  are 
known  to  be  very  warlike ;  not  only  Mahommedans,  but  Sikhs, 
Goorkas,  Mahrattas,  and  others,  so  that  there  is  an  unlimited 
supply  of  men  who,  at  our  call,  would  be  willing  to  join  our 
standards  and  follow  our  officers  to  Central  Asia,  or  anywhere 
else,  with  the  full  certainty  of  success.     So  great  is  our  prestige** 
and  so  entirely  have  we  now  the  confidence  of  the  people,  th^"^ 
60,000  English  soldiers  are  found  sufficient,  in  addition  to  tlm^ 
Native  troops,  to  hold  the  country ;  and  an  English  lady  migt»-'^ 
travel  through  it  without  escort  from  one  end  to  the  other  witi 
out  danger  of  being  molested.     Having  command  of  the  sea, 
can  add  to'our  materiel  and  munitions  at  will ;  and  local  fa^^ 
tories  exist  for  the  manufacture  of  gunpowder,  gun-carriag^''^ 
harness,  laboratory  stores,  and  other  equipments,  which  rend«=^ 
India  in  a  g^eat  measure  independent  of  England  in  its  warlir-**' 

suppli^^' 


The  Military  Position  of  Russia  in  Central  Asia.         567 

es.  The  troops,  both  English  and  Native,  are  well  armed. 
9  of  transport  are  extending  in  all  directions.  Several 
inds  of  miles  of  railroads  have  been  constructed,  and  are 

completed,  to  the  frontiers ;  the  great  rivers  also  are 
jd,  "SO  that  the  facilities  of  rapid  concentration  at  any 
ened  point  are  far  greater  than  of  old.  Civil  government 
ily  established  in  every  district.  We  are  spending  large 
in  public  works  and  in  developing  the  natural  resources  of 
untry.  Education  is  spreading,  and  the  natives  are  em- 
1  in  increasing  numbers  in  high  and  responsible  offices, 
country  is  no  longer  devastated  by  war  or  ravaged  by 
J,  ill-disciplined  soldiers,  as  of  old.  The  people  enjoy 
m  and  almost  absolute  personal  security.  No  doubt  we 
tens  ;  and  the  government  of  a  country  so  vast,  and  peopled 
many  different  races,  must  ever  be  a  matter  of  great 
ilty  and  of  almost  unlimited  responsibility.  Nor  is  our  sys- 
y  any  means  perfect ;  but  still  the  people  feel  and  acknow- 
that  they  are  treated  with  justice  and  humanity,  and  as  a 

are  prosperous  and  contented.  It  may  be  said  that  these 
rs  are  well  known,  but  surely  they  are  often  forgotten,  and 
)resent  certainly  a  remarkable  contrast  to  the  condition  of 
al  Asia,  from  which  so  many  anticipate  danger  and  suc- 
1  attack. 

ere  is  one  argument  frequently  employed  by  those  who 
le  advance  of  Russia,  the  danger  that  our  power  may  be 
mined  by  intrigue,  more  especially  in  respect  to  the  Ma- 
ledans.  It  is  often  quoted  as  our  weak  point.  This 
rs,  however,  to  be  a  hasty  and  an  erroneous  conclusion. 
1  nations,  probably  Russia  is  looked  upon  as  the  greatest 
f  of  the  Mahommedan  faith  throughout  the  world.  Sir 
es  Wingfield,*  a  distinguished  member  of  the  Indian  Civil 
;e,  has  pointed  out  that  Russia  was  far  more  likely  to  be 
.ken  by  a  burst  of  Mahommedan  fanaticism  than  ourselves, 
se  people  of  that  religion  constitute  almost  the  entire 
ation  of  Turkistan,  whilst  in  India  they  form  only  one-> 

he  says, '  the  game  of  stirring  up  discontent  is  to  be  played, 
£88  me  that  Kussia,  with  her  exclusively  Mahommedan  popula- 
L  Central  Asia,  is  far  more  vulnerable  than  we  are,  wiUi  four- 
)f  our  subjects  Hindoos.  .  .  .  The  vast  mass  of  the  population, 
md  low,  have  not,  I  believe,  the  slightest  wish  to  change  our 
or  that  of  Eussia.  They  Imow  very  well  the  Kossians  would 
me  as  liberators  or  benefactors  of  the  people  of  India.  If  they 
ny   doubt  on  this  point,  I  think  the  memoranda  of  Greneral 

peech  by  Sir  C.  Wingfiold  in  the  House  of  Commons,  April  22nd,  1873. 

Duhamol 


568       The  Military  Position  of  Russia  in  Central  Asia. 

Dahamel  and  other  RuBsian  officers,  written  about  the  time  of  the 
Crimean  war,  would  undeceive  them.  In  these  writings  it  is  oooUf 
proposed  that  the  savage  Turkomans  and  Afghans  should  be  at- 
tracted to  the  Bussian  standard  by  the  prospect  of  the  plunder  of 
Hindostan.' 

Sir  Vincent  Eyre  *  ^another  well-known  authority)  is  of 
opinion  that  the  idea  ot  a  Russian  army  approaching  India 
being  the  signal  for  a  general  revolt  is  not  well  founded.  He 
says  that  ^  the  character  of  Russian  rule  has  not  failed  to  reach 
the  ears  of  the  inhabitants  of  India,  who  are  generally  very 
shrewd  judges  of  their  own  worldly  interests ;'  and  although,  as 
he  admits,  there  are  many  ignorant  bigots,  both  Mahommedani 
and  Hindoo,  to  whom  a  Christian  and  foreign  rule  must  be 
distasteful — and  numberless  reckless  spirits,  who  sigh  for  anarchy 
and  plunder,  such  as  formerly  existed — still,  as  a  whole,  India 
has  never  been  so  wisely  or  so  beneficially  governed  as  it  is 
now. 

Sir  Henry  Rawlinson  and  Mr.  Schuyler  have  already  been 
quoted  in  proof  of  the  hostility  of  the  people  of  Central  Asia  to 
the  Russians  ;  and,  as  the  late  Lord  Sandhurst  pointed  out,  we 
should  have  no  difficulty  in  stirring  up  the  Mussulman  element 
of  Central  Asia,  so  as  to  render  the  Russian  position  not  only 
dangerous  but  almost  untenable.  Therefore  there  seems  every 
reason  to  believe  that  were  the  Russians  to  attempt  an  advance 
towards  India,  they  would  be  far  more  likely  to  find  the  general 
sympathies  of  the  various  races  enlisted  on  our  side  than  on  their 
own. 

A  study  of  the  map  and  a  consideration  of  all  the  circumstances 
prove  that  the  only  real  approach  to  India  by  which  an  invader 
could  hope  to  achieve  success  is  through  Afghanistan.  The  main 
importance  of  Herat  lies  in  its  position  in  the  North- Western 
corner,  at  a  point  where  the  routes  through  Persia  and  from  the 
direction  of  Merve  converge.  It  guards,  as  it  were,  the  first 
opening  through  the  Hindoo  Koosh,  but  is  upwards  of  800  mil^ 
from  the  Indus.  It  must  also  be  borne  in  mind  that  between 
Afghanistan  and  India,  the  Soliman  Range,  an  offshoot  of  the 
Hindoo  Koosh,  runs  all  down  our  North- West  frontier,  and  is 
inhabited  by  wild  tribes,  who,  although  Afghans  in  race,  religion, 
and  language,  are  almost  entirely  independent  of  the  ruler  at 
Cabul.  A  few  minor  passes  exist  through  this  screen  of  moun- 
tains, but  there  are  only  two  (the  Kyber  and  the  Bolan)  really 
available  as  routes  for  an  invasion  in  force.     Our  frontier  w 


♦   '  A  Retrcspcct  of  the  Afghan  War.'     By  Major-General    Sir  Vincent 
Eyre,  K.C.S.I.,  C.B. 

guarded 


Tlie  Military  Position  of  Russia  in  Central  Asia.        56& 

guarded  by  a  series  of  detached  forts  and  stations  along  the 
foot  of  these  mountains,  the  two  most  important  being  at 
Peshawur,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Kjber,  and  Jacobabad  in  Scinde^ 
near  the  entrance  to  the  Bolan.  With  a  view  of  permanently 
closing  these,  the  only  two  avenues  leading  to  India,  proposals 
have  often  been  made  to  advance  from  our  present  line,  and 
establish  outposts  either  within  or  beyond  the  passes.  In  the 
case  of  the  Kyber,  however,  we  should  not  only  have  to  reckon 
with  independent  and  powerful  tribes,  but  the  defiles  are  so  long 
and  difficult  that,  instead  of  strengthening  our  position,  .we  should 
place  ourselves  in  constant  jeopardy  and  create  a  permanent 
source  of  anxiety.  Of  the  Bolan  there  is  more  to  be  said.  The 
routes  which  lead  towards  it  through  Afghanistan  are  easier  than 
those  to  the  Kyber ;  the  pass  itself  is  comparatively  open,  and 
an  enemy's  advance  therefore  rendered  more  feasible,  and  more 
direct  to  the  vital  parts  of  India.  In  short,  if  an  invader  is  ever 
again  to  enter  Hindostan  by  land,  the  road  through  the  Bolan 
must  almost  inevitably  form  his  main  line  of  attack.  The  late 
General  Jacob  and  Sir  Henry  Green,  both  of  whom  held  charge 
of  the  Scinde  frontier  for  years,  strongly  advocated  our  taking 
up  a  strategical  position  at  Quetta  beyond  the  pass.  Sir  Henry 
Green  pointed  out  *  that  the  Belooch  tribes  who  hold  the  moun- 
tains number  about  40,000  men,  under  the  Khan  of  Khelat,  who 
is  loyal  and  friendly  to  our  rule.  .  Writing  in  1873,  he  quoted 
the  letters  of  General  Jacob  to  Lords  Canning  and  Elphinstone, 
from  which  the  following  are  extracts : — 

'  I  have  for  long  past  thought  over  the  subject  of  the  arrangements 
proper  to  secure  our  north-western  frontier  of  India  permanently  in 
sncn  a  manner  as  to  obviate  the  necessity  of  any  alarm,  unusual  stir, 
or  hasty  operations  of  any  kind,  in  consequence  of  movements  of 
enemies,  or  possible  enemies,  from  without.  At  present  it  appears  to 
me  that  we  are  in  a  great  measure  in  the  position  of  a  mighty  army 
without  any  outposts  of  any  kind.  The  whole  host  is  liable  to  be 
perplexed  and  disturbed  to  its  centre,  even  by  any  small  body  of 
adventurers,  who  may  confidently  approach  its  unwieldy  strength  with 
impunity.  It  seems  to  me  that  we  now  have  the  best  possible  oppor- 
tunity of  remedying  this  state  of  things,  an  opportunity  offering  a 
combination  of  circumstances  favourable  to  our  purpose  sach  as  must 
very  rarely  occur.  Beloochistan  is  entirely  at  our  disposal,  the 
people  being  really  most  friendly  towards  us,  and,  since  the  late 
treaty  with  Khelat,  more  so  than  ever.' 

Again — 

'  There  are  but  two  great  roads  into  our  Indian  empire  from  the 


<  The  Defence  of  the  North- West  Frontier  of  India.'     By  Colonel  Sir  H. 
Green,  K.C.S.I.,  C.B.    1873. 

north-west — 


570         The  Military  Position  of  Russia  in  Central  Asia. 

north-west — but  two  roads,  in  fact,  by  which  it  is  possible  for  a 
modem  army  to  march.  One  of  these,  the  Bolan,  lies  through  an 
entirely  friendly  country.  The  Ehelat  territory  extends  to  Pe^een, 
forty  miles  beyond  the  head  of  the  pass,  in  the  table-land  of  Afghan* 
istan,  and  is  inhabited  by  Belooch  and  Brahooe  tribes,  who  are  of  an 
entirely  different  race  from  the  Afghans.  The  road  through  the 
Bolan  is,  even  at  present,  generally  good,  and  snfficiently  easy  for  an 
army  to  proceed  by  it,  with  all  its  artillery,  stores,  &c.  This  road  is 
also  the  shortest  from  Herat  to  British  India,  and  is  the  natural 
outlet  to  the  ocean  of  the  commerce  of  a  yery  large  portion  of  Central 
Asia.  .  .  .  The  more  the  matter  is  considered  in  all  its  bearings, 
relations,  and  conseqnonces,  the  more  certain  it  will  appear  that  there 
should  be  a  good  British  force  at  Quetta,  a  good  made  road  from  that 
place  through  the  Bolan  Pass  to  Dadur,  and  thence  continued  through 
Khutchee  to  the  British  frontier,  to  connect  with  the  lines  of  road  in 
Sind.* 

The  proposition,  in  short,  is  that  we  should  deliberately  leave 
our  present  line,  and,  passing  through  the  mountains,  establish 
a  fortified  position  at  Quetta,  in  the  country  belonging  to  the 
Khan  of  Khelat,  150  miles  in  advance  of  our  Scinde  frontier, 
and  close  to  the  borders  of  Afghanistan.  The  supposed  advan- 
tages are  that  we  should  not  only  hold  the  pass,  but,  by  emerging 
from  the  screen  of  mountains,  should  display  our  power,  exert 
greater  influence  over  the  Afghans,  and  be  able  to  move  on  still 
farther  if  required.  Officers  of  energy  and  ability,  compelled  to 
reside  for  years  in  comparative  isolation,  holding  charge  of  an 
important  and  somewhat  unsettled  frontier,  and  who  constantly 
see  before  them  mountains  peopled  by  restless  predatory  tribes, 
almost  naturally  pine  for  action,  and  long  to  penetrate  the 
regions  in  their  front,  where  the  honours  and  rewards  so  dear  to 
soldiers  lie  almost  inviting  their  grasp.  The  consciousness  of 
power  oflfers  temptation  to  its  employment,  especially  when  those 
against  whom  it  might  be  so  successfully  used  are  defiant  in 
their  attitude,  and  from  their  ignorance  unable  to  appreciate 
their  danger.  In  a  military  point  of  view,  however,  an  advanced 
post,  200  miles  from  the  nearest  British  station,  and  which  could 
only  be  reinforced  through  the  gorges  of  a  mountain-pass  held 
by  independent  tribes,  would  appear  a  doubtful  benefit,  and,  in 
case  of  local  disturbance,  must  prove  a  source  of  anxiety.  *^ 
position  of  the  kind  could  only  be  maintained  by  our  becomiDg 
the  dominant  power  in  its  vicinity. 

The  occupation  of  Quetta,  and  our  general  policy  towards  the 
Afghans,  which  form  parts  of  the  same  question,  have  been 
matters  of  discussion  for  years  past. 

Lord  Strangford,  writing  in  1868  of  the  possibility  of  Russia 

approaching  Afghanistan,  said  that  the  more  they  looked  at  it, 

the 


Central  Asia. 

Ithe  less  they  would  like  it ;  and  the  more  that  either  they  or  wo 
interfered  in  its  alTaira,  the  more  surely  would  the  intruder  piny 
his  adversary's  game.  Sir  Charles  Wingfield  holds  similar 
views.  'Our  true  policy,'  he  says,  'in  regard  to  Afghanistiin  is, 
and  always  has  heen,  to  abstain  from  all  embarrassing  and 
entangling  connection  with  her.  It  should  ever  be  borne  in 
mind  that  whichever  European  Power  first  enters  Afghanistan 
■nakes  the  people  her  enemies.'  Sir  Henry  Rawlinson,  although 
be  considers  that  the  occupation  of  Quetta  would  be  a  military 
advantage,  is  doubtful  of  its  expediency  in  a  pf>litical  point 
«f  view. 

Mr.  Grant  Duff,"  in  an  excellent  speech  on  the  Central  Asian 
Question,  pointed  out  that  an  advance  to  Quetta  would  be  far 
irom  agreeable  to  Khelat,  and  could  not  fail  to  irritate  both 
Persia  and  Afghanistan,  and  wake  up  old  fears  of  annexation. 
It  would  involve  throwing  a  considerable  force  257  miles  in 
advance  of  our  present  frontier-posts,  and  would  turn  the  Uolan 
into  a  difficulty  behind  us,  instead  of  a  defence  in  front. 

The  late  Lord  Sandhurst  was  equally  emphatic,  and,  when 
Commander-in-Chief  in  India,  concurred  with  Lord  Lawrence, 
the  Governor-General,  that  the  political  disadvantages  of  occu- 
pying Quetta  were  obvious,  as  we  should  thereby  alarm  the 
filousy  not  only  of  the  Afghans,  but  also  of  the  Persian  Court. 
he  real  fact  is  that  our  natural  frontiers  are  so  strong,  and  can 
be  so  readily  reinforced,  and  the  Russians  are  so  weak  and 
'distant,  that  it  would  be  a  false  move  to  entangle  ourselves 
beyond  omr  present  line  by  establishing  isolated  posts  in  a 
nigged  country,  inhabited  by  races  who  .-ire  naturally  suspicious, 
'and  whose  friendship  as  neighbours  we  ought  on  eyery  account 
'  to  endeavour  to  secure. 

I  We  may  now  arrive  at  a  general  conclusion  as  to  Central 
I  Asia  in  its  military  aspect.  The  position  of  Russia  is  that  of  a 
great  Power,  which  has  recently  obtained  possession  of  a  vast 
, tract  of  country  hitherto  divided  between  three  effete  Mahom- 
Siedan  principalities.  It  is,  for  the  most  part,  a  barren  con- 
quest, pour  in  revenue  and  in  general  resources;  the  distances 
ore  great;  the  deserts  wide-spread,  and  deficient  in  food,  fuel, 
and  even  water;  the  roads  are  mere  caravan-tracks,  and  railways 
are  unknown.  The  Russian  occupation  is  necessarily  limited 
to  isolated  detachments,  and  civil  Government  is  hardly  csta- 
,blisbed;  and  although  no  military  power  exists  which  can  beat 
[Russia  in  the  field,  still  the  country  is  but  half-subjugated. 
Her  position    is   not  an   assured   one,  and  the  inhabitants   are 

•  Speech  of  Mr.  Grant  Duff  lu  the  Hoom  of  CommfinB,  July  9th,  1869. 

unfriendly. 


572       The  Military  Position  of  Russia  in  Central  Asia. 

unfriendly.  Even  assuming  that  Russia  entertains  hostile 
designs  against  us,  it  seems  difficult  under  such  circumstances 
to  feel  any  real  alarm  as  to  a  possible  invasion,  or  even  threat, 
of  India.  Russia  may  no  doubt,  in  time,  to  a  certain  extent, 
consolidate  her  conquests,  and  remove  some  of  the  causes  of  her 
present  weakness ;  but  it  is  evident  that  many  of  the  conditions 
are  not  capable  of  remedy,  and  Central  Asia  must  ever  remain 
a  weak  basis  for  offensive  military  operations.  Her  present 
position  is  not  only  powerless  for  attack,  but  in  some  degree 
precarious.  With  the  deserts  behind  them,  with  vast  snowy 
ranges  in  their  front,  the  Russian  southern  outposts  are  mere 
points  at  the  extremities,  as  it  were,  of  attenuated  threads,  whose 
connection  with  the  main  resources  of  the  Empire  are  liable  at 
any  moment  to  be  snapped  asunder.  It  could  be  easy,  if  it  were 
desirable,  as  we  have  already  said,  for  the  British  Government 
at  any  time  to  raise  a  general  revolt  against  Russia  of  the  whole 
Mahommedan  population  in  Central  Asia,  still  easier  if  the 
Russians  should  embark  in  a  crusade  against  their  Mahom- 
medan brethren  in  Europe. 

When  we  consider  the  great  strength   of  our  own  position 
in  India — strength  derived  not  merely  from  the  geographical 
features  of  the  country,  but  from  the  vast  military  resources  at 
our  disposal,  from  the  energy  of  our  character,  and  the  justice  of 
our  rule — it  seems  quite  remarkable  that  feelings  of  uneasiness 
should  from  time  to  time  arise  as  to  the  supposed  designs  or 
capability  of  Russia  to  injure  us.     May  we  not,  with  far  more 
reason,  feel  that  the  real  power  in  that  part  of  the  world  is  in 
our  hands  ;  that,  should  war  arise,  it  rests  with  us  to  march  out 
to  the  attack ;  and  that  we  could  do  so  as  from  a  citadel,  sending' 
forth  great  armies  highly  equipped,  and  strengthened  not  only 
by  all  the  appliances  of  modern  warfare,  but  by  a  conviction 
that  the  sympathies  and  interests  of  the  races  are  on  our  side  ? 
These  are  considerations  of  the  highest  national  importance ;  the 
shadow  of  our  power  already  falls  far  away  over  the  snowy 
ridges  of  the  Himalayas ;  and  so  long  as  we  rule  the  countries 
committed  to  our  charge  with  honesty,  conciliation,  and  justice, 
we  need  neither  dread  disaffection  within  our  border,  nor  attack 
from  those  who  reside  beyond  it. 


Abt. 


(     "3     ) 

Akt.  X. —  I.  Pariiame)itary  Papers.  Tnrkr//,  No.  !.  (1877). 
Correspondence  respecting  the  affairsof  Turkey,  1876.  Turkiy, 
No.  II.  (1877).  Correspondence  respecting  the  Conference  at 
Constantinople,  and  the  affairs  of  Turkey,  1876-1877. 

2.  ParHamentary  Papers.  Protocol  relative  to  the  Affairs  if 
Turkey,  signed  at  London,  March  31rf,  1877. 

3.  Substance  of  a  Speech  delivered  in  tlte  House  of  Lords  {Februan/ 
26(A,  1877).     By  Earl  Grey.     London,  1877. 

4.  England's  Duty  in  the  Eastern  Difficulty :  a  Lecture  delivered 
December  23rd,  1876.  Bj-  the  Rev.  Professor  J.  L.  Porter,  D.D. 
London,  1876. 

THE  Conference  at  Constantinople  succeeded  in  several  of  the 
tasks  which  it  undertook  to  perform,  notably  in  that  of 
postponini;  hostilities,  but  the  historic  importance  of  its  pro- 
ceedings and  results  will  mainly  depend  upon  the  light  which  it 
has  thrown  upon  the  proper  answer  to  be  given  to  the  question, 
What  shall  be  done  with  Turkey?  This  question  was  practi- 
cally put  by  Prince  GortschakofT,  in  his  Circular  of  the  31st  of 
January,  which,  in  apparent  contemplation  of  a  peaceful  issue, 
admits  that  the  difficulty  is  reduced  to  'inducing  the  Turkish 
<j!overnment  to  rule  the  Christian  subjects  of  the  Sultan  in  a  just 
and  humane  manner.'  Assuming  that  the  Turkish  Government 
must  remain  as  the  central  authority  of  the  Ottoman  F^mpire, 
with  independence  and  sovereign  rights  guaranteed  to  it  by  the 
Treaty  of  Paris,  the  whole  interest  of  the  Eastern  Question  now 
lies  in  the  future.  The  proceedings  of  the  past,  which  include 
Andrassy  Notes,  Berlin  Memoranda,  countless  despatches,  and 
the  mobilisation  of  large  forces,  have  assailed  in  vain  the  prin- 
ciple of  the  integrity  and  independence  of  the  Ottoman  Empire, 
Hurope  has  learnt  the  value  of  the  settlement  of  1856,  and  has 
resolved  to  maintain  it.  It  is  essential  not  merely  to  the  balance 
of  power,  but  for  the  preservation  of  the  vital  interests  of  several 
of  the  Powers,  that  the  territory  south  of  the  Danube,  com- 
manding that  river  and  the  Bosphorus,  should  be  in  the 
hands  of  a  Power  whose  neutrality  is  assured,  and  whose  inde- 
pendence is  guaranteed.  A  general  acquiescence  in  this  political 
truth  closes  discussion  upon  the  past. 

The  result  of  all  that  has  taken  place  is,  that  the  great  mass 
of  the  public  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  Lord  Derby 
in  particular,  and  the  Government  in  general,  have  worthily 
upheld  the  honour  and  interests  of  the  country  in  circumstances 
of  peculiar  difficulty  and  danger.  The  settled  determination  of 
the  Ministry  neither  to  draw  the  sword  on  Iwhalf  of  Turkey,  nor 
to  join  Russia  in  coercing  the  Porte,  while  resening  to  them- 
selves full  liberty  to  intervene  if  the  interests  of  Great  Britain 


574  Turkey. 

should  be  menaced,  has  received  such  general  approval  in  both 
Houses  of  Parliament,  that  even  the  most  violent  and  irrecon- 
cilable members  of  the  Opposition  have  not  ventured  to  chal- 
lenge the  decision  by  any  formal  motion  upon  the  subject  A 
few  irresponsible  writers  may  recommend  war  against  Turkey^ 
even  ^  though  it  should  be  a  signal  for  confusion  and  anarchj  in 
every  part  of  Europe ;'  but  no  one  worthy  of  the  name  of  a  states- 
man would  venture  to  provoke  a  contest  in  which  the  Christian 
inhabitants  of  Turkey  would  be  the  first  and  greatest  sufieren, 
and  of  which  no  one  can  calculate  the  consequences  nor  foresee 
the  end. 

It  is  said  by  Russia  that  the  Porte  has  opposed  to  the  wishes 
of  Europe  a  refusal  which  threatens  its  dignity  and  tranquillity. 
Two  months  of  negotiations  which  followed  have  resulted  in  a 
Protocol  *  which,  according  to  Count  SchouvalofT,  *  terminates 
the  incident.'  That  Protocol  affirms  afresh  the  common  interest 
taken  by  the  Powers  in  the  improvement  of  the  condition  of  the 
Christian  populations.  It  recog^ses  the  good  intentions  of  the 
Porte,  and  its  evident  interest  to  carry  them  immediately  into 
effect ;  and  states  the  intention  of  the  Powers  to  watch  carefully, 
by  means  of  their  representatives  at  Constantinople  and  their 
local  agents,  the  manner  in  which  the  promises  of  the  Ottoman 
Government  are  carried  into  eflFect. 

With  this  joint  declaration  on  the  part  of  the  Powers  the 
past  at  once  recedes  into  history,  and  the  whole  interest  of  the 
Eastern  Question  is  concentrated  in  the  immediate  future.  The 
policy  recommended  by  the  Protocol,  both  to  Europe  and  to 
Turkey,  is  exactly  in  accordance  with  that  which  we  ourselves 
ventured  to  suggest  in  our  last  Number.  That  policy  points  to 
an  eflfective  co-operation,  in  a  manner  which  shall  not  offend 
the  sovereignty  of  the  Sultan,  between  the  Porte  and  the  repre- 
sentatives of  the  Powers.  The  main  question  of  interest  now  i> 
in  what  way  can  England  in  particular  best  discharge  the  duty 
which  is  openly  accepted  in  this  Protocol,  and  which  was 
impliedly  accepted  in  the  Treaty  of  Paris,  but,  as  we  all  know, 
was  subsequently  neglected.  Those  who  have  been  eager  m 
proclaiming  their  sense  of  responsibility,  arising  from  the 
Crimean  War  and  Turkish  oppression,  will  now  have  an  oppof" 

*  Ab  a  matter  of  literary  curiosity  we  may  mention  the  origin  of  the  word 
*  Protocol.'  It  is  a  Greek  word  {■Kpoar6Ko\\ov\  of  Byzantine  origin,  and  wa» 
originally  used  on  the  first  page,  glued  to  the  papyrus  roll  (from  -rpiros  *  ^\ 
and  K6xxa  *  glue '),  upon  which  page  was  entered  the  name  of  the  Comes  Itfgi- 
tionum  (who  had  the  charge  ofpublio  documents),  under  whom  and  at  what  tim^^ 
the  document  was  drawn  up.  The  word  first  occurs,  we  believe,  in  the  '  Novell* 
of  Justinian  (Nov.  44).  It  was  afterwards  applied  to  public  documents  in  general* 
and  frequently  appears  in  its  Latin  form,  protocollum,  in  medieval  Latin,  whence 
it  has  passed  into  most  modem  languages. 

tunity 


Turkey.  575 

tunity  of  supporting  an  Administration  which  accepts  the  duties 
so  long  neglected  by  them. 

As  our  object  in  this  article  is  the  practical  one  of  ascer- 
taining what  is  best  to  be  done  for  the  due  discharge  of  these 
duties,  there  are  three  things  to  be  attended  to: — First,  The 
general  character  of  the  Ottoman  rule  as  it  has  been  in  the  past, 
and  as  its  results  promise  for  the  future.  Secondly.  Within 
what  limits  there  is  reason  to  hope,  especially  from  the  attitude 
of  Turkey  at  the  recent  Conference  and  from  its  subseauent 
acts,  that  the  projected  co-operation  of  the  Powers  will  be 
accepted  and  rendered  eflFective.  Thirdly.  English  duty  and 
English  policy  in  the  future. 

I.  As  regards  the  first,  it  is  clear  that  the  exceptional  incidents 
of  a  state  of  warfare  and  panic  should  be  laid  on  one  side. 
They  are  unfortunately  not  unique  in  the  history  of  Turkey,  or 
of  Europe.  The  misrule  and  oppression  of  the  Ottoman  Go- 
vernment are  universally  admitted,  but  a  flood  of  sensational 
writing  upon  this  subject  warns  us  against  exaggeration.  The 
misery  of  Ottoman  subjects  has  certainly  not  been  diminished 
either  by  Muscovite  agencies,  thwarting  all  efforts  of  Turkey 
towards  amendment,  or  by  English  indifference  during  the 
last  twenty  years.  If  any  amendment  is  to  be  hoped  for, 
the  desistance  of  Russia  from  its  Panslavist  intrigues  and  the 
cessation  of  English  indifference  are  quite  as  important  as 
Ottoman  guarantees;  in  fact,  the  latter  would  be  worthless 
without  the  former,  superfluous  or  of  diminished  importance 
with  them.  As  a  nation  it  must  be  admitted  that  we  have 
shown  the  most  deplorable  supineness.  We  largely  reduced  our 
consular  service  and  thereby  diminished  our  power  of  supervision ; 
we  poured  our  loans  into  the  country  with  reckless  profusion, 
without  betraying  the  slightest  concern  as  to  whether  increased 
corruption  and  increased  extortion  were  not  the  inevitable 
results.  If  demoralisation  spread,  we  certainly  never  protested. 
And  in  1871  Lord  Enfield,  then  Under-Secretary  for  Foreign 
Affairs,  declared  that  the  condition  of  the  Christians  had  been 
greatly  improved  and  that  they  were  better  satisfied  with 
Turkish  rule  than  they  had  been  for  some  time.  Then  came 
the  renewal  of  the  guarantee,  without  a  syllable  of  remonstrance 
or  complaint  from  any  quarter  against  Turkish  administration, 
though  the  whole  subject  of  that  treaty  of  renewal  was  for  months 
under  the  consideration  of  Mr.  Gladstone's  Government.  If  it 
would  be  pedantic  to  say  that  this  treaty  was  a  formal  con- 
donation on  the  part  of  Europe  of  the  antecedent  misgovem- 
ment  by  Turkey,  at  all  events  we  might  infer  from  the  silence 
then   observed  that  that  misgovernment,  notwithstanding   the 

English 


576  Turkey. 

English  neglect  which  fostered  it,  has  been  since  considerablj 
exaggerated.  That  was  the  opinion  expressed  in  the  last 
Number  of  this  *  Review/  and  also  that,  bad  as  it  may  be,  it  hai 
somewhat  improved,  in  spite  of  all  obstacles,  during  the  period 
which  has  elapsed  since  the  Crimean  War. 

In  our  last  Number  we  traced  the  development  of  the  Chrii- 
tian  populations  of  Turkey  during  the  last  quarter  of  a  centuiy. 
Turkish  revenue  returns  show  how  far  wealth  has  increased 
among  the  Christians,  into  whose  hands,  not  only  the  commerce 
and  manufactures,  but  the  agriculture  of  the  country  are  graduallj 
passing.  The  Greek  clergy,  and  not  the  Ottoman  Government, 
are  responsible  for  the  profound  and  brutal  ignorance  which 
prevailed  ;  but  American  and  other  missionaries  had  established 
schools  in  Bulgaria  under  the  protection  of  the  Turkish  Govero- 
ment.  Professor  Porter,  who  was  long  resident  in  the  countrj, 
and  who  had  special  opportunities  for  knowing  the  real  state  of 
things,  bears  emphatic  testimony  to  the  toleration  shown  by  the 
Turkish  Government  to  the  various  religious  bodies  in  the 
empire : — 

'  History  proves — the  history  alike  of  the  Saltans  of  Turkey  and 
the  Moors  in  Spain — that  the  religious  basis  of  Moslem  law,  stem  a 
it  is  in  theory,  offers  no  serious  obstacle  in  practice  to  the  complete 
toleration  of  all  sects.  Those  who  differ  from  the  National  faitli  psy 
a  poll-tax,  but  in  other  respects  they  are  free.  It  is  well-known,  no 
one  can  deny  it,  that  large  Christian  communities — Aimepiams 
Greeks,  Syrians,  Maronites — have  lived  in  Turkey  from  the  fonndir 
tion  of  the  Empire,  and  still  live  there,  in  the  enjoyment  of  fnll 
religious  liberty.  Not  only  so,  but,  each  community  has  actually  the 
right  guaranteed  to  it  by  the  Sultan,  of  administering  its  own  affiuiii 
civil  or  sacred,  without  let  or  hindrance.  In  the  provincial  and 
town  councils,  too,  each  sect  is  represented  by  its  ecclesiastical  head, 
and  by  a  civil  delegate.' 

This  is  confirmed  by  the  statements  of  the  American  mis- 
sionaries : — 

*  When  we  first  came  to  Turkey,'  writes  Dr.  Groodell,  *  and  for 

many  years  afterwards,  we  could  not  live  in  Constantinople  Proper. 

....  Although  other  Franks  had  summer  residences  in  difibzeni 

places,  still  this  privilege  was,  through  the  influence  of  the  Armemanif 

GreeJcSy  and  Catholics,  denied  to  us;  but  the  Turks  now  no  longer 

listen  to  the  representations,  or  rather  misrepresentations  of  our 

enemies,  and  we  live  without  molestation  wherever  we  choose.  .  .  • 

We  can  open  schools  and  consecrate  chapels  wherever  we  please.  .  •  • 

It  is  said  that  the  Grand  Charter  of  religious  toleration  in  Turkey 

exists  only  in  name,  and  is  virtually  a  dead  letter.     To  this  it  i* 

sufficient  to  reply,  that  before  the  Hatti  Humayoun  there  wars  mo^ 

casM 


Turkey.  bll 

•cases  of  persecution  reported  to  ns  every  week  than  there  are  now  in 
a  whole  year.  .  .  .  Again,  it  is  said  that  the  Turks  are  insincere  in 
their  professions  of  toleration,  and  it  is  only  under  foreign  pressure 
they  are  eyer  brought  to  act  in  favour  of  it.  But  it  would  be  much 
more  in  accordance  with  truth  to  say  that,  so  far  as  Protestantism  is 
-concerned,  it  is  only  under  such  pressure  that  they  have  ever  been 
brought  to  act  against  it.  There  is,  and  there  always  has  been  ten 
times  (perhaps  I  should  say  a  hundred  times^  as  much  influence 
exerted  upon  the  Turkish  Government  against  liberty  of  conscience, 
as  has  ever  been  exerted  in  favour  of  it.  These  Armenian,  and 
Greek,  and  Catholic  communities  are  themselves  mighty,  and  they 
exert  a  mighty  influence ;  and  they  are  always  exerting  it  against 
each  other,  each  endeavouring  to  eidist  the  Turk  on  his  side.' 

He  says  further  by  way  of  summing  up : — 

*  Whoever  has  read  the  *' Missionary  Herald"  for  the  last  forty 

years  must  have  seen  that  perhaps  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a 

hundred  our  persecutions  have  come  not  from  the  Turks,  but  from 

ihese  corrupt  Churches — the  Turks  never  of  themselves  showing  a 

^disposition  to  molest  us.' 

And  Professor  Porter  adds : — 

'Even  the  Bulgarians,  some  of  whom  have  recently  suffered  so 
terribly,  were  obliged,  not  many  years  ago,  to  appeal  to  the  Turks 
against  the  intolerable  tyranny  of  Greek  ecclesiastics,  who  attempted 
to  deprive  them  at  once  of  their  religious  independence,  their  language, 
and  ^their  individuality  as  a  nation ;  and  this  the  (Jreek  hierarchy 
attempted  under  the  patronage  of  Bussia.' 

The  lives  and  property  of  Christians  were  no  longer  dealt 
with  by  the  governing  classes  of  Turkey  as  if  they  were  com- 
pletely at  their  mercy.  In  times  of  panic,  acts  of  hostility  met, 
and  are  liable  to  meet,  with  a  brutal  and  horrible  revenge ;  but 
the  same  trustworthy  witness  denies  altogether  that  this  is  the 
normal  condition  of  Turkish  rule  :^ 

*'  I  often  wonder/  says  Professor  Porter,  *  if  I  am  in  dreamland 
when  I  hear  all  Turkey  denounced  as  a  Sodom,  when  I  hear  it 
afiBrmed  by  inteUigent  and  even  eminent  men,  that  the  life  of  no 
Christian  man,  and  the  honour  of  no  Christian  woman  are  safe  there ; 
when  I  hear  it  deliberately  asserted,  and  I  now  quote  the  exact  words 
of  a  recent  writer,  '*  that  the  Turkish  Government  puts  a  premium  on 
the  violation  of  Christian  female  chastity."  Why,  I  have  myself 
lived  with  my  wife  and  children  for  years  together  in  one  of  the  most 
fJEmatical  cities  of  the  Empire ;  I  have  travelled  isx  and  wide  through 
its  provinces  at  various  times ;  I  have  had  opportunities  of  obtaining 
information,  and  of  investigating  the  character  and  acts  of  both  rulers 
and  people,  such  as  few  residents  possessed ;  and  I  affirm  that,  during 
mil  that  time,  I  never  heard  of  a  single  instance  of  such  brutality.  To 
Vol.  143.— iVb.  286.  2  P  represent 


578  Turkey. 

represest  this  as  the  normal  state  of  Turkey,  or  as  the  normal  chancier 
of  its  ralers,  is  a  monstrous  calumny.' 

As  regards  the  exclusion  of  Turkish  Christians  from  the  army, 
we  pointed  out  in  our  last  Number  that  they  themselves  stre- 
nuously opposed  a  measure  brought  forward  by  Fuad  Pasha  to 
extend  the  conscription  to  the  Christians.  They  brought  every 
pressure  to  bear  against  it,  and  enlisted  the  foreign  embassies  and 
legations  at  Constantinople  in  support  of  their  opposition.  The 
measure  was  abandoned.  The  Christians  agreed  to  pay  a  com- 
paratively small  exemption  tax,  and  in  consequence  increased  in 
numbers  and  wealth,  while  the  Mussulman  races  were  weakened 
in  both  respects  by  being  exclusively  exposed  to  the  hardships  of 
compulsory  enlistment.  So  also  with  regard  to  the  collection  of 
taxes  in  kind  ;  Fuad  Pasha  and  other  Turkish  statesmen  wished  to 
abolish  the  practice,  but  every  one  in  the  least  degree  acquainted 
with  the  habits  of  Oriental  people  knows  how  impossible  it  is  to 
change  their  deep-rooted  immemorial  customs.  Vis  inertUBy  with 
its  imconscious  machinations,  is  the  strongest  enemy  to  reform, 
but  in  this  case  the  threatened  extortions  of  the  money-lender 
terrorised  the  population  far  more  than  the  inconveniences  of 
paying  in  kind.  The  system  of  farming  the  tithes  is  far  more 
injurious  than  that  of  collecting  taxes  in  kind.  The  Christians 
are,  however,  generally  the  collectors,  and  are  no  doubt  rapacious. 
A  sounder  system  of  taxation  is  a  crying  want,  but  the  co-opera- 
tion of  the  Christians  and  the  removal  of  their  opposition  are 
essential  to  the  success  of  any  attempts  at  reform.  Besides  the 
Christian  collectors  of  taxes,  there  are  the  Greek  clergy,  whose 
ignorance,  vice,  and  resolute  opposition  to  education  render  them 
the  pest  of  the  provinces.  They  collect  taxes  and  control  the 
finances  of  their  flocks,  and  in  their  double  capacity  of  priest 
and  tax-gatherer  are  the  most  formidable  spoliators  of  the  un- 
happy Rayahs.  For  a  long  time  the  Greek  clergy  were  the 
docile  and  useful  agents  of  Russia.  It  is  needless  to  say  that 
no  attempt  was  ever  made  to  reform  them,  or  to  protect  the 
Christians  from  their  rapacity  and  ignorance. 

Then  with  regard  to  the  general  state  of  the  Christian  popula- 
tions, many  years  ago  the  Bosnian  Christians  suffered  greatly  from 
the  corv4e  or  forced  labour,  but  they  were  delivered  from  this 
chiefly  through  the  representations  of  Lord  Stratford  de  Redcliffe. 
They  then  became  cultivators  of  the  soil  under  the  landowners, 
exposed  to  the  abuse  of  taxation  and  the  neglect  of  Turkish 
officials — grievances  in  detail  which  are  not  to  be  remedied  by 
insurrection  or  war.  If  Bosnia  had  an  outlet  for  her  produce 
and   improved  administration,  the  Mussulmans  and  Christians 

therein,    w4io   in    no   unequal   proportion   are  all  Slavs  alike, 

might 


Turkey.  579 

might  again  be  reconciled  and  prosperous.  The  same  may  be 
said  with  regard  to  Herzegovina.  In  Bulgaria  the  Christians 
form  the  vast  majority,  and,  being  unwarlike,  have  been  held 
down  in  a  state  almost  of  serfdom.  Under  Midhat  Pasha  that 
province  was  well  administered.  The  Christians,  though  unfit 
for  self-government,  have  nevertheless  by  their  industry  and 
intelligence  achieved  considerable  prosperity.  Turkish  govern- 
ment is  not  inconsistent  with  their  prosperity,  if  foreign  agents 
and  intriguers  are  excluded  and  the  Christians  are  let  sdone. 

As  regards  Servia  and  Roumania  their  treaties  have  been 
respected,  and  their  independence  is  gfuaranteed  by  the  Powers. 
Concessions  have  been  frequently  made  to  them  by  Turkey, 
notably  in  1867,  when  Turkey  withdrew  her  garrisons  from 
Servian  fortresses  on  Servia's  pledge  to  remain  faithful ;  and 
Prince  Milan  himself  in  his  declaration  of  war  was  unable  to 
allege  a  single  grievance. 

Moreover,  the  question,  viewed  simply  as  one  of  internal  ad- 
ministration, is  not  exclusively  one  of  past  oppression  and  mis- 
rule on  the  part  of  the  Porte.  Can  the  control  of  the  future  be 
removed  from  it?  Would  the  substitution  of  the  Czar's  pro- 
tectorate directly,  or  as  the  agent  of  Europe,  promise  a  remedy  ? 
The  known  antecedents  of  Russia  in  dealing  with  subject-popu- 
lations, her  past  policy  towards  Turkish  subjects,  the  antipathy 
displayed  by  them,  and  the  hopelessness  of  emancipation  from 
that  iron  rule,  if  once  established,  prevent  us  from  finding  any 
guarantee  for  a  wise  and  humane  rule  in  the  alternative  sug- 
gested. It  is  impossible  to  trace  in  the  events  of  the  last  twenty 
years  any  genuine  care  on  the  part  of  Russia  for  the  condition  of 
these  races.  The  disorders  and  oppression  from  which  they 
flEuffer  have  been  largely  increased  without  any  prospect  of  imme- 
diate amendment  by  the  actual  and  threatened  hostilities  to 
which  the  empire  has  been  exposed.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
conscience  and  active  sympathy  not  merely  of  England  but  of 
all  the  Powers  have  been  aroused.  They  are  powerless  until 
Russia  has  made  her  choice  between  resorting  to  open  warfare 
and  desisting  from  her  Panslavist  intrigues. 

During  an  interval  so  disastrous,  not  merely  to  the  commerce 
and  prosperity  of  the  world  but  also  to  the  prosperity  and 
condition  of  this  unfortunate  empire,  the  Turkish  Government 
so  far  promises  well  for  the  future  that  it  has  been  tasking  its 
utmost  energies  to  devise  the  means  of  restoring  order.  The 
measures  which  it  is  laboriously  preparing  may  be  open  to 
criticism,  and  may  fail  to  attain  the  end  desired.  But  they  are 
at  all  events  efforts  made  by  the  established  Government  of  a 
<x>imtry  for  the  purpose  of  mitigating  and  gradually  improving 
the  condition  of  their  subjects.     If  any  diplomatic  pressure^ 

2  P  2  euco^Qx^^^TS^^T^. 


580  Turkey. 

encouragement,  and  support  would  contribute  to  their  success 
and  are  withheld  ;  or  if  the  state  of  semi-warfare  which  tbc 
armies  of  the  Czar  create  renders  their  failure  ineritable,  the 
exclusive  responsibility  does  not  rest  with  the  Ottoman 
Government. 

II.  The  next  subject  of  interest  is  within  what  limits  the 
known  policy  of  Turkey,  which  is  not  deficient  in  consistent 
purpose  and  courageous  execution,  will  accept  the  proffered 
action  of  the  Powers.  Will  their  resolution  to  watch  carefully 
not  merely  at  Constantinople  but  in  the  provinces  the  carrying 
out  of  the  projected  reforms,  with  all  the  diplomatic  intervention 
which  such  a  resolution  undoubtedly  contemplates,  be  regarded 
by  the  Sultan  as  inconsistent  with  his  independence  and 
sovereign  rights  ?  The  answer  to  this  question  may  be  found 
in  the  proceedings  of  the  Conference ;  and  unless  their  recent 
successes  have  bred  an  imusually  defiant  and  impracticable 
spirit  on  the  part  of  Ottoman  statesmen,  we  believe  that  thej 
are  not  averse  to  interference  of  the  kind  suggested,  so  long  as 
it  is  friendly,  firm,  and  just.  The  Protocol  just  signed,  however, 
probably  increases  rather  than  diminishes  Turkish  suscepti- 
bilities on  this  subject ;  and  the  declaration  of  Count  Schouva- 
loff,  appended  to  the  Protocol,  tends  to  neutralise  any  good 
effects  that  might  otherwise  be  expected  from  it.  The  Protocol 
itself  provides  a  retreat  for  Russia,  if  she  wishes  to  retreat; 
it  certainly  does  not  help  to  smooth  any  of  the  difficulties  at 
Constantinople. 

No  undue  inferences  must  be  drawn  from  what  is  some- 
times called  the  failure  of  the  Conference,  the  refusal  of  the 
Porte  to  comply  with  the  wishes  of  Europe.  The  imme- 
diate purpose  of  the  Conference  ought  to  have  been  to  mediate 
between  Russia  and  Turkey,  to  ascertain  if  the  Sultan's  Govern- 
ment were  willing,  in  view  of  its  isolated  position  in  Europe  and 
of  the  enormous  perils  by  which  it  was  surrounded,  to  come  to 
an  agreement  with  its  ancient  foe.  Whether  the  refusal  of  the 
Porte  was  wise  or  not  is  not  now  the  question.  Lord  Salisbury 
has  stated  that  he  never  anticipated,  even  before  he  left  England, 
the  success  of  the  Conference.  That  circumstance  did  not 
prevent  him  from  loyally  striving  to  attain  it  in  concert  with 
the  other  Powers  ;  and  it  has  never  been  suggested  at  home  or 
abroad  that  the  result  was  due  to  any  want  of  hearty  co- 
operation on  the  part  of  the  English  plenipotentiary.  But 
whilst  the  Russian  and  Turkish  plenipotentiaries  were  face  to 
face  at  the  council  board,  their  armies  were  drawn  up  in  hostile 
array  on  the  frontiers,  and  their  unofficial  hostilities  were  but 
temporarily  suspended.  The  relation  of  the  two  Powers,  as 
well  as  the  relations  of  the  Ottoman  Government  to  its  subjects, 

must 


Turkey.  581 

must  be  borne  in  mind  in  weighing  the  conduct  of  Turkey  and 
^he  character  of  its  refusal.  It  was  of  the  last  importance,  not 
merely  to  its  welfare  but  to  its  existence  at  that  moment,  to 
naintain  the  authority  of  Government,  and  its  capabilities  for 
lefence.  The  usual  stubbornness  of  Ottoman  statesmen  in 
aspect  of  everything  which  touches  the  independence  of  their 
jrovemment  was  strengthened  by  the  circumstances  of  the  hour. 
There  can  be  no  doubt,  too,  that  the  exclusion  of  the  Turks 
rem  the  preliminary  Conference  deeply  wounded  their  pride. 
\nd  singularly  enough,  the  refusal  by  the  Porte  of  the  terms 
presented  to  them  indicated  no  departure  from  the  basis  of  the 
[Conference  as  they  had  accepted  it.  No  sufficient  answer  was 
;ver  given  at  the  Conference  or  since  to  Safvet  Pasha's  conten- 
tion (*  Papers,'  No.  II.  p.  351)  that  this  basis,  which  Turkey 
bad  accepted,  did  not  speak  of  guarantees  to  be  furnished  by 
'.he  Imperial  Government  to  the  Powers,  or  to  the  populations 
through  the  medium  of  the  Powers,  but  provided  that  the  system 
>f  institutions  should  furnish  the  guarantees.  So  far  from 
refusing  demands  so  limited,  the  argument  of  the  Ottoman 
plenipotentiaries  was  directed  to  show  that  the  whole  energy  of 
their  Government  had  been  directed  to  devise  and  establish 
new  institutions  with  that  view.  And  on  reference  to  the 
6th  protocol,  which  records  the  sitting  of  the  Conference  of  the 
3th  of  January,  we  find  that  the  representatives  of  the  Powers, 
speaking  through  Count  Corti  (*  Papers,'  No.  II.  p.  324),  felt 
the  force  of  the  objection  that  their  proposals  were  not  in 
strict  accordance  with  the  accepted  basis.  He  argued  that  the 
project  of  law  which  the  Powers  had  drawn  up  was  nothing  else 
;han  the  organisation  in  administrative,  judicial,  and  financial 
>rder  of  the  system  of  local  institutions  prescribed  by  the 
English  programme.  Not  content  with  thus  admitting  by 
implication  that  the  guarantees  were  to  be  contained  in  the 
nstitulions,  they  referred  to  those  offered  by  the  Constitution  in 
Jiese  terms :  ^  We  had  laid  our  proposals  when  it  had  not  been 
published.  Now  that  it  does  exist,  some  time  will  elapse  before 
t  can  possibly  be  seriously  applied ;  and  it  is  during  this  delay 
;hat  a  guaranteeing  commission  has  seemed  to  us  likely  to  be 
isefol.'  They  pressed  this  guaranteeing  commission  upon  the 
Porte  as  ^  fulfilling  in  the  provinces  the  part  of  counsellors,  and 
)f  protecting  in  its  infancy  the  regular  action  of  the  new  rigime. 
\nd  again,  *the  sovereign  authority  would  thus  only  be 
strengthened  by  the  aid  which  the  Great  Powers  would  lend  on 
;he  spot  to  the  Ottoman  Government  in  the  work  of  the 
pacification  of  their  provinces.'  And  as  regards  the  estimate 
formed  by  the  plenipotentiaries  of  the  Constitution,  which  con- 
tains 


582  Turkey. 

tains  the  guarantees  conceded  by  the  Porte,  thej  add  that  the 
powers  of  the  prescribed  commission  ^  should  cease  at  the  end  of  a 
year,  and  then  we  hope  recourse  could^be  had  to  the  Constitution.' 

It  seems  to  us  that  the  Porte's  refusal  of  an  international  Com- 
mission thus  adroitly  recommended,  and  its  defence  of  the 
Constitution  thus  implicitly  accepted,  ought  to  be  received  with 
candour  and  fairness.  According  to  the  Turkish  view,  the  result 
of  the  original  proposals  would  have  been  to  place  the  whole 
executive  and  judicial  authority,  and  even  the  armed  force,  in  the 
hands  of  Foreign  Powers ;  while  the  two  points  reserved  as  con- 
ditions, sine  qud  non^  were  incompatible  with  the  sovereign  rights 
of  the  Sultan.  The  policy  of  the  Turks  was  to  present  to  the 
Conference  out  of  deference  to  Europe  their  own  basis  of  internal 
administration,  and  to  adopt  such  of  the  measures  comprised  in 
the  European  programme  as  appeared  to  them  calculated  to 
fulfil  their  object.  Subject  to  this  they  were  firmly  resolved  to 
maintain,  at  all  hazards,  their  independence  and  the  unimpaired 
rights  of  the  Sultan.  As  Midhat  Pasha  put  it  (*  Papers,'  No.  IL 
p.  272),  he  could  not  consent,  by  any  written  ofiBcial  document, 
to  subordinate  the  authority  of  the  sovereign  in  the  selection  of 
the  Governor  in  his  dominions  to  the  approval  of  Foreign  Powen; 
but  at  the  same  time,  with  a  view  of  coming  to  an  understanding, 
it  might  be  possible  to  promise  confidentially  that  the  names  of 
the  proposed  Valis  should  be  unofficially  communicated  to  the 
Powers  before  their  nomination. 

This  and  other  conciliatory  suggestions  show  that  within  the 
limits  of  co-operation  on  equal  terms,  the  Porte,  as  represented 
by  its  most  uncompromising  statesman,  acknowledges  the  right 
of  the  Powers  to  interest  themselves  in  the  internal  condition 
of  Turkey,  and  is  not  averse  to  an  intervention  which  respects 
its  independence.  As  regards  the  nomination  of  Valis,  Midhat 
Pasha's  suggestion  is  by  no  means  unimportant.  If  adopted  it 
would  tend  to  ensure  a  better  choice  of  Governors,  and  check 
the  practice  of  continual  change ;  nor  would  the  influence  thus 
brought  to  bear  fail  to  afiect  the  conduct  of  the  persons  so 
nominated.  Much  may  be  done  by  diplomatic  watchfulness 
and  pressure,  and  it  is  satisfactory  to  see  that  the  Ottoman 
Government  is  not  opposed  to  its  exercise,  even  in  regard  to 
this  most  important  attribute  of  power  which  so  closely  concerns 
the  whole  subject  of  maladministration.  As  to  the  inter- 
national Commission,  we  agree  with  Lord  Grey  that  no  good 
could  possibly  have  come  of  it,  and  that  it  was  most  properly 
rejected.  Its  institution  would  have  been,  as  Safvet  Pasha 
pointed  out  0  Papers,'  No.  II.  p.  318),  equivalent  to  the  sus- 
pension of  all  action  on  the  part  of  the  Imperial  Government 

as 


Turkey.  583 

regards  Bosnia,  as  well  as  the  Vilayets  eastern  and  western, 
aong  thirty  millions  of  Ottomans  there  was  not  one  who 
uld  accept  it,  or  allow  the  proposed  diplomatic  veto  upon 
'.  appointment  of  Governors,  which  would  seriously  embarrass 
!  Government,  and — ^  It  is  not  a  reasonable  concession,'  he 
ied  (No.  II.  p.  263),  ^  that  is  asked  of  us,  it  is  an  insulting 
)posal,  it  is  the  mutilation  of  this  empire.  The  Imperial 
»vemment  can  never  allow  its  independence  to  be  trenched 
on  without  having  first  exhausted  every  means  of  resistance, 
i  as  it  is  a  question  of  life  or  death  for  it,  it  must  act  accord- 

Instead  of  parting  with  a  portion  of  its  authority  to  the  Power 
ich  it  was  believed  had  stirred  up  insurrection  in  its  provinces, 
ich  most  certainly  might  have  ensured  the  neutrality  of  the 
incipalities,  and  which  had  openly  contributed  men  and 
»ney  to  the  civil  war  which  had  been  temporarily  suspended, 
)  Porte  announced  the  measures  which  it  had  taken  to  ensure 
1  guarantee  a  better  administration.  The  new  institutions 
n  at  civil  and  political  equality  between  all  Ottomans,  with- 
t  distinction  of  race  or  religion.  The  idea  was  to  carry  into 
2ct  Midhat  Pasha's  plan  of  decentralisation,  with  the  due 
dntenance  of  the  central  authority.  Like  all  constitutions  it 
a  paper  constitution ;  but  the  sole  question  is,  whether  it  will 
rk.  Lord  Salisbury's  opinion  upon  this  point  is  (No.  II.  p. 
3),  that  although  the  machinery  is  provided  for  securing  the 
skctment  of  wise  laws,  yet  in  the  absence  of  popular  leaders 
lo  would  work  the  liberties  grai^ted,  such  as  they  are,  it  would 
re  but  a  slender  effect  in  checking  maladministration  and 
itraining  the  abuse  of  power.  All  the  legpislation  was  reserved, 
1  was  embodied  in  codes  to  be  passed  by  the  new  legpislature 
soon  as  it  was  put  in  working  order.  In  its  first  session,  ac- 
rding  to  the  opening  speech  of  the  Sultan,  Bills  are  to  be 
ssented  to  it  on  the  standing  orders  of  the  Chamber— the 
ctoral  law,  the  general  law  respecting  the  Vilayets  and  the 
remment  of  the  communes,  the  municipal  law,  the  civil  code 
procedure,  laws  relative  to  the  reorganisation  of  the  tribunal, 
1  the  mode  of  promoting  and  superannuating  judges,  the  law 
iceming  the  functions  and  retiring  pensions  of  all  public 
ictionaries  in  general,  the  law  on  the  press,  that  respecting 
i  Court  of  accounts,  and  lastly  the  Budget  law.  The  Sultan 
^ecially  recommended  attention  to  the  reorganisation  of  the 
bunals  and  the  formation  of  the  geiidarmerie^  the  development 
agriculture  and  industry  and  of  public  instruction.  The 
Itan  has  instituted  at  his  own  expense  a  special  school  for  the 
ucation  of  administrative  functionaries,  who  will  be  selected 

without 


584  Turkey . 

without  distinction  of  religion.  He  claimed  to  have  giren^ 
proofs  ^of  our  sincere  desire  to  defer  to  the  wishes  and  the 
counsels  of  the  friendly  Powers.'  As  to  the  failure  of  the 
Conference,  ^  the  cause  lay  rather  in  the  form  and  the  mode  of 
execution  than  in  the  substance.' 

With  this  proof  before  us  of  the  renovated  energy  of  the 
Turkish  Government,  and  its  desire,  bom  of  the  crisis  through 
which  it  has  passed,  to  satisfy  the  just  demands  of  Europe,  it 
cannot  be  difficult  for  the  Powers,  whose  sense  of  responsibility 
does  not  evaporate  in  rhetoric,  effectively  to  aid  the  execation 
of  reforms.  If  by  diplomatic  pressure  and  continued  watchful* 
ness  they  can  impart  to  the  new  system  some  of  the  vigour 
which  Lord  Salisbury  would  anticipate  from  the  action  of 
*  popular  leaders,'  a  gradual  improvement  in  the  condition  of  the- 
provinces  would  be  rendered  far  more  probable  than  if  they 
were  once  for  all  placed  under  unrestricted  Muscovite  agencies. 
The  vehement  opponents  of  Ottoman  misrule  rashly  assume  that 
its  disappearance  would  effect  an  immediate  cure  of  admitted  evils. 
The  opinion  of  statesmen  and  responsible  governments  is  that 
it  would  be  followed  by  a  general  insurrection,  or  by  the  substi- 
tution of  a  far  more  grinding  tyranny.  No  one  pretends  that  the- 
lot  of  these  semi-barbarous  races  is  an  enviable  one.  They  suffer 
from  extortion  and  misgovemment,  from  lawlessness,  reciprocal 
animosities,  and  perpetual  intrigue.  The  main  supporters  of  the 
Ottoman  Power  have  entirely  neglected  those  responsibilitiet 
towards  them  which  in  a  supreme  crisis  they  loudly  proclaim. 
The  Turkish  Government  has  been  encouraged  in  the  road  to 
ruin,  and  also  in  its  oppressive  taxation,  which  lies  at  the  root 
of  all  its  subjects'  misery.  But  that  Government  has  now  been 
entirely  remodelled,  both  in  its  personnel  and  its  institutions.  It 
has  this  claim  to  respect,  that  it  has  overpowered  a  g^at  revo- 
lutionary conspiracy,  maintained  its  independence  against 
overwhelming  odds,  and  is  struggling  to  reconstitute  the  empire 
in  spite  of  hostile  armies  and  implacable  insurgents.  Peace  is 
necessary  to  its  success.  But  in  the  midst  of  its  present  diffi- 
culties it  will  not  associate  the  other  Powers,  including  its  most 
deadly  antagonist,  in  partnership  with  itself,  for  the  purpose  of 
joint  administration  with  the  aid  of  a  foreign  (/endarmerie,  its 
own  troops  withdrawn  into  their  fortresses,  whilst  soldiers, 
strange  to  the  language  and  habits  of  the  people,  might  increase 
their  disorders.  The  counter-proposals  of  the  Porte  are  at  least 
entitled  to  a  fair  consideration,  when  they  are  presented  to  the 
notice  of  Europe  in  the  terms  offered  by  Midhat  Pasha.  *  Let  a 
fixed  time,'  he  said  (No.  II.  p.  243),  'say  a  year,  be  granted  for 
carrying  out  the  reforms  now  being  inaugurated,  and  at  the  end 

of 


Tarhsy.  585^ 

of  that  period  let  the  ambassadors  report  whether  thej  are  being' 
fairly  executed  or  not.  If  they  report  in  the  negative,  the  Porte 
will  submit  to  the  appointment  of  an  international  Commission, 
or  such  other  form  of  control  as  may  be  held  desirable.'  The 
offer  at  least  proves  the  desire  of  the  Ottoman  Government  to- 
satisfy  all  just  demands.  The  Grand  Vizier  also  admitted  that 
there  was  much  in  the  proposals  of  the  plenipotentiaries  that 
was  practical  and  important,  and  to  which  he  assented.  The 
plenipotentiaries  of  Turkey,  while  refusing  foreign  troops,  said 
they  would  willingly  employ  foreign  oflScers  to  organise  a  mixed 
force  of  Christians  and  Mussulmans  (No.  II.  p.  354).  They  also 
accepted  fully  the  engagement  of  instituting  good  law  courts, 
subordinate  to  the  Ministry  of  Justice  at  Constantinople.  They 
accepted  the  principle  of  the  stability  of  the  Valis'  power,  and 
provided  by  the  Constitution  that  the  recall  of  a  Vali  (especially 
one  nominated  to  the  provinces  in  question  (No.  II.  p.  323), 
should  always  in  future  be  a  serious  matter. 

It  seems  to  us  that  so  far  from  the  refusal  of  the  Porte  being 
in  any  way  injurious  to  the  peace  and  dignity  of  Europe,  it 
tends  to  save  Europe  from  the  grave  complication  which  might 
have  arisen  from  obstructing  the  proper  action  of  legitimate 
authority  in  the  disturbed  districts,  and  substituting  therein  a 
very  inefficient  instrument  of  international  administration,  whose 
action  would  be  impeded  by  mutual  jealousies,  unsupported  by 
any  effective  agency,  and  resting  upon  no  principle  of  authority 
which  could  ensure  obedience.  The  alleged  firm  and  unanimous 
wish  of  Europe  was  not  attested  by  any  signed  Protocol ;  and 
though  all  the  proposals  were  made  in  the  joint  name  of  the 
Six  Powers,  they  were  subject  to  the  results  of  discussion,  which 
effected  considerable  changes,  and  to  the  assent  of  the  Porte', 
which  was  in  two  material  points  resolutely  withheld.  In  the 
negotiations  which  followed  the  breaking  up  of  the  Conference^ 
the  relative  situation  of  the  Powers  was  not  materially  changed. 
Nothing  has  occurred  to  fetter  their  freedom  in  the  future,  or 
to  hinder  an  impartial  and  unprejudiced  examination  by  each, 
of  them  of  the  position  of  the  Porte  as  it  is  affected  by  the  new 
condition  of  things.  By  the  Protocol  they  recognise  the  good 
intentions  of  the  Porte,  its  right  to  execute  its  own  reforms; 
they  conditionally  engage  to  grant  time  for  that  purpose,  to 
abstain  from  aggression,  and  to  maintain  their  agreement  with, 
one  another. 

III.  The  third  point  for  consideration  is,  what  is  England's 
duty  and  policy  under  the  circumstances,  having  regard  to  the  Pro- 
tocol, and  also  to  the  contingencies  under  which  it  may  be  rendered 
null  and  void  ?  The  invectives  against  a  do-nothing  poUcy,  which 

find 


586  TSirkey. 

find  eloquent  expressions  upon  platforms  and  in  pamphlets,  aie 
deprived  of  all  the  force  which  thej  would  otherwise  possess  by  the 
absence  of  any  practical  suggestions.    Vague  entreaties  to  united 
Europe  to  force  its  will  on  the  Turks,  not  to  shrink  back  terrified 
and  alarmed  before  the  Ottomans  at  Constantinople,  but  to  exoi- 
cise  the  great  anti-human  species  of  humanity,  may  have  the  effect 
of  exciting  popular  passion,  but  in  themselves  contribute  nothing 
to  practical  politics.     They  assume,  if  they  have  any  meaning 
at  all,  that  it  is  possible  to  establish  an  effective  and  forcible 
control  over  the  proceedings  of  the  Turkish  Government ;  or 
that  it  is  prudent,  having  regard  to  the  circumstances  of  Europe, 
to  hasten  the  dissolution  or  dismemberment  of  the  Ottoman 
Empire.     No  section  of  any  political  party  is  openly  in  favour 
•of  the  latter  alternative.     Mr.  Gladstone  himself  has  steadily 
adhered  to  the  principle  of  the  integrity  of  the  Ottoman  Empire, 
even  in  his  most  impulsive  moments.     And  although  in  his 
letter  to  the  ^  Times'  of  the  26th  of  March  he  warns  us  *  that 
the  time  within  which  a  plan  of  suzerainty  and  tribute  to  the 
Porte,  or  any  like  plan,  can  remain  practicable  as  a  settlement 
of  the  question  is  rapidly  running  out,'  it  may  be  safely  assumed 
that,  upon  due  reflection,  neither  he  nor  his  party  will  formally 
commit  themselves  to  a  policy  of  war.    The  firm  and  unanimous 
wish  of  Europe  in  favour  of  a  better  government  of  the  Christian 
populations  cannot  be  imposed  upon  Turkey  by  war.     It  is  the 
policy  of  Europe  to  maintain  the  integrity  of  the  Ottoman  Empire, 
because  a  contrary  course  will,  in  the  opinion  of  all  governments, 
involve  great  calamities  and  wars  of  no  ordinary  duration,  and 
because  the  fall  of  that  empire,  even  from  internal  causes,  would 
disturb  the  distribution  of  power  in  a  manner  which  could  not 
fail  to  affect  the  general  welfare.     It  may  probably  be  assumed 
that,  notwithstanding   the  Moscow    speech    and  the  menacing 
demonstrations  on  the  frontier,  the  Czar  himself  would  gladly  re- 
trace the  path  of  danger  upon  which  he  unfortunately  entered  last 
autumn.     In  case  of  his  successful  encroachment  upon  the  Euro- 
pean dominions  of  the  Sultan,  the  interests  of  Austria  would  soon 
be  vitally  affected,  and  these  have  been  declared  to  be  the  special 
<»ncern  of  Prince  Bismarck.     English  interests  are  concerned 
in  the  maintenance  as  well  of  the  Asiatic  as  of  the  European 
boundaries  of  the  empire.     A  war  of  annexation  or  encroach- 
ment is  forbidden  by  the  unanimous  declaration  of  the  Powers, 
which  formed  the  basis  of  the  recent  Conference,  that  they  abjure 
any  territorial  advantage,  any  exclusive  influence,  or  any  con- 
cession with   regard  to  the  commerce  of  their  subjects  which 
those  of  every  other  nation  may  not  equally  obtain.     Then  with 
regard  to  a  policy  of  coercion,  which  means  that  while  the  do- 
minions 


Turkey.  587 

ns  of  the  Sultan  are  preserved  intact  and  his  sovereignty  is 
1,  he  is,  nevertheless,  after  refusing  in  the  most  solemn  and 
ve  manner  to  share  his  sovereignty  with  the  Powers,  to  be 
!d  into  adopting  their  measures;  the  idea  involved  in 
on  is  that  of  the  establishment  within  the  dominions  of 
iltan  of  a  power  paramount  to  his  own,  for  the  purpose  of 
rising  his  administration.  It  can  only  be  carried  into 
in  one  of  two  ways.  First  by  consent ;  and  the  proposals 
!  preliminary  Conference,  especially  those  which  related  to 
ntonment  of  the  troops  of  the  Sultan  and  the  creation  of  a 
n  gendarmerie,  clearly  pointed  to  conferring  such  para- 
i  power,  so  far  as  the  three  province^  were  concerned,  upon 
ternational  Commission.  Those  proposals  were  emphati- 
rejected.  Secondly,  by  force  of  arms.  But  the  attempt  to 
ge  the  Sultan's  authority  either  wholly  or  in  part  by  those 
1,  however  disguised  under  the  more  euphonious  term  of 
on,  means  war  for  the  overthrow  and  extinction  of  the 
lan  Empire.    For,  as  Sir  Andrew  Buchanan  pointed  out  to 

Andrassy  ('  Papers,'  No.  I.  p.  405),  even  if  measures  of 
on  were  limited  to  the  use  of  the  fleets  so  as  to  avoid  that 
ry  occupation  which  Europe  forbids,  what  would  happen  ? 
lultan  would  not  allow  a  fleet,  with  hostile  purpose,  to  pass 
ardanelles.  To  resist  it  mi^ht  and  would  be  equivalent  tp 
aration  of  war  upon  united  Europe.  On  the  other  hand, 
pearance  of  that  fleet  before  Constantinople  would  lead  to 
;break  of  popular  indignation  against  the  Sultan  and  his 
ters ;  for  the  people  believe  that  in  the  absence  of  treachery 
irdanelles  cannot  be  forced.  A  demonstration  from  Besika 
ould  have  no  coercive  effect  upon  a  people  fortified  by 
elief ;  and  the  deterrent  influence  of  public  opinion  upon 
inistry  would  lose  none  of  its  force. 
>olicy  of  coercion,  whatever  may  be  the  precise  meaning 

we  annex  to  the  term,  has  been  so  emphatically  con- 
k1  by  Ministers  in  both  Houses  of  Parliament,  and  ap- 
ly  repudiated  both  by  the  Liberal  pdrty  in  England  and 

rest  of  the  mediating  Powers,  that  it  may  for  the  present 
at  be  laid  out  of  account.  It  must  be  assumed  that  the 
sh  Empire,  as  at  present  constituted,  must  remain.  Its 
L  promises  may  be  a  currency  of  waste  paper,  but  never- 
(  it  must,  ex  necessitate  rety  be  treated  as  a  government 
e  of  entering  into  and  fulfilling  its  international  engage- 
In  the  debate  on  the  Treaty  of  Peace  in  1856  some 
bjected  that  no  faith  could  be  reposed  in  Russia  that 
ould  keep  her  engagements,  and  Lord  Palmerston  replied 

that 


588  Turkey. 

that  in  that  case  the  transaction  of  business  would  become  im- 
possible. The  guilt  of  the  Ottoman  Government  in  some 
of  its  recent  transactions  may  be  as  great  as  Mr.  Gladstone 
contends,  but  unless  united  Europe  can  ^pass  sentence  in  iU 
might'  upon  it  ('  Lessons  in  Massacre/  p.  79),  retribution 
must  be  postponed  to  the  same  Day  of  JTudgment  to  which 
the  same  author  refers  good  Mahometans  for  their  reward 
(p.  35).  It  is  conceivable  that  the  case  might  arise  in  whicb 
Europe  might  declare  that  the  conduct  of  a  particular  Govern- 
ment was  the  curse  of  its  subjects'  existence  and  a  perpetual, 
irremediable  menace  to  public  tranquillity,  and  forthwith  decree 
its  removal.  But  until  it  sees  fit  to  do  so,  and  clearly  the  case 
has  not  arisen  with  regard  to  the  Ottoman  Government,  the 
delinquent  Government  must  be  treated  in  a  spirit  of  statesman- 
like candour,  and  some  degree  of  faith  must  be  reposed  in  it 
When  Safvet  Pasha  appealed  at  the  Conference  to  the  loyalty 
with  which  his  Government  kept  its  engagements,  the  *  big  brave 
words,'  so  much  applauded  in  pamphlets,  were  not  forthcoming, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  Count  de  Chaudordy  and  the  French 
Ambassador,  with  the  acquiescence  of  their  colleagues,  repudiated 
any  doubt  of  the  loyalty  of  the  Ottoman  Government  or  of  iU 
good  faith  (^  Papers,'  No.  II.  p.  342) ;  *  the  question  was  to 
ascertain  if  it  was  in  a  position  to  carry  out  its  engagements.' 
That  is  the  spirit  in  which  we  and  the  Powers  of  Europe  must 
deal  with  the  Ottoman  Government,  so  long  as  any  international 
relations  are  to  be  maintained  with  it.  It  seems  to  us  matter 
for  grave  regret  that  these  incessant  invectives  should  be  directed 
against  the  misconduct  of  one  of  the  Governments  concerned,  to 
the  exclusion  of  the  equally  culpable  misdoings  of  the  other, 
and  of  all  the  varied  considerations  of  policy  which  directly  affect 
the  welfare  of  so  many  populations.  Justice  to  Turkey  requires 
that  it  should  be  recollected  that  her  Government  stood  alone 
in  protesting  against  the  Partition  of  Poland,  and  at  a  later 
date  refused  to  deliver  up  the  Hungarian  refugees.  Its  resolute 
maintenance  of  its  integrity  and  independence  saves  Europe 
from  disaster ;  it  has  always  been  distinguished  for  its  tolera- 
tion ;  and  if  its  crimes  during  the  past  twelve  months  have 
been  extreme,  it  has  been  surrounded  by  unexampled  diffi- 
culties. It  had  to  deal  with  two  provinces  in  insurrection,  and 
two  vassal  principalities  in  open  war,  aiming  at  its  dismember- 
ment, and  supported  by  the  men  and  money  of  Russia  in 
flagrant  disregard  of  the  rules  of  neutrality.  There  were  at  the 
very  least  strong  grounds  for  suspecting  that  a  widely-spread 
and  powerful  conspiracy  existed,  and  if  sanguinary  measures 

of 


Turkey.  589 

r  repression  were  adopted,  thej  have  been  duly  punished  bj 
le  forfeiture  of  the  alliance  and  support  of  Great  Britain,  and 
eed  not  be  exaggerated  under  the  influence  of  rhetorical  passion 
Qtil  thej  obscure  all  the  vast  interests  involved  in  the  whole 
lastem  Question.  , 

Moreover,  the  ordinary  diplomatic  usage  (from  which  it  is 
ise  not  to  depart)  has  been,  whenever  local  disturbances 
ave  arisen,  to  diminish  as  much  as  possible  their  proportions 
ad  influence.  Experience  has  shown  that  interference  from 
ithout  aggravates  the  disorder,  and  is  seldom  able  to  apply 

remedy.  The  troubles  in  Crete  led  to  some  innovation 
pon  these  usages.  In  1867  France  and  Austria,  with  a  view 
>  cultivate  the  friendship  of  Russia — so  important  to  both 
f  them  in  presence  of  the  growing  power  of  Prussia,  were 
Eudous  to  find  the  means  of  pacifying  the  East.  It  was 
iren  proposed  at  that  early  date  to  revise  the  Treaty  of  Paris, 
ith  a  view  to  the  collective  interference  of  the  Powers.  The 
roject  was  then,  as  now,  to  make  Turkey  a  ward  of  Europe, 
lut  misunderstandings  speedily  supervened,  and  after  the 
[oscow  Congress  the  traditional  policy  of  maintaining  the 
ghts  of  the  Sultan  was  revived.  M.  Klackzo  has  given  us  a 
vely  picture  of  thp  disorderly  agitations  which  followed  the 
roceedings  of  the  Congress.  The  Austrian  Foreign  Office  felt 
le  action  of  Slav  committees  amongst  the  Ruthenes,  Czechs, 
id  Croatians ;  whilst  the  unhappy  Turk  was  exposed  to  the 
Dstility  of  Montenegro,  Servia,  and  Crete;  and  disturbances 
ere.  diligently  fomented  in  Bulgaria.  The  Conference  of 
aris  succeeded  in  smoothing  over  the  international  difficulties 
hich  arose  in  consequence  with  Gre^e.  Then,  as  now,  no 
:tempt  was  made  by  the  Russian  Government  to  calm  any  of 
Le  agitations  which  arose.  All  endeavours  with  that  view  ' 
ime  from  the  Western  Cabinets,  whilst  Russia  was  ready  with 
ccuses  and  encpuragement. 

If,  notwithstanding  the  recent  Protocol,  the  policy  of  Russia 
r  the  defiance  of  Turkey  leads  to  war,  all  discussion  will  be  at 
cice  suspended  until  the  results  of  an  appeal  to  force  are  mani- 
sted.  But  assuming  that  the  late  negotiations  respecting  the 
rotocol  just  signed  had  in  view  the  maintenance  of  peace,  and 
tat  the  difficulties  relating  to  disbandment  and  demobilisation 
:e  surmounted,  the  various  issues  which  compose  this  great 
astern  Question  will  still  remain  open.  It  is  desirable  that 
ds  country  should  have  a  clear  idea  of  those  responsibilities 
pon  which  Mr.  Gladstone  expends  so  much  eloquence  in 
Opposition  and  so  little  attention  in  Office.  Those  responsi- 
bilities 


590        ''  Turkey. 

bilities  will  not  merely  flow  from  the  Crimean  War  and  the 
Treaty  of  1856.  They  will  have  been  increased  by  our  renewal 
of  the  Treaty  in  1871,  and  our  determined  and  in  that  case  suc- 
cessful vindication  of  it  in  1877.  If,  as  Lord  Salisbury  sajs, 
the  position  of  Turkey  as  reg^ards  Europe  has  been  completely 
changed  by  its  refusal  of  the  terms  of  the  Conference,  in  what 
position  is  Europe,  and  particularly  Great  Britain,  placed  hj 
acquiescing  in  that  refusal  ?  We  answer  that,  in  the  nrst  place^ 
that  refusal  has  been  accompanied  by  reiterated  promises  of 
reform,  by  strenuous  efforts  to  effect  it,  by  a  recognition  of  the 
right  of  the  Powers  to  take  notice  of  the  internal  administratioa 
of  the  Porte,  and  to  co-operate  with  the  Porte  for  that  purpose  in 
any  manner  which  is  not  inconsistent  with  the  independence 
and  sovereignty  of  the  Sultan.  The  position  is  not  free  from 
delicacy  and  difficulty;  the  Porte's  engagements  are  implied^ 
not  expressed ;  the  correlative  rights  of  the  Powers  are  undefined 
and  exceptional ;  but  care  should  be  taken  to  render  them  none 
the  less  substantial.  Although  we  refuse  to  revise,  far  less  to 
destroy,  the  settlement  of  1856,  all  parties  to  it,  looking  to  the 
criticaJ  situation  which  has  arisen,  must  awake  to  their  responsi* 
bilities  and  provide  that  the  scandalous  neglect  and  oppression 
of  the  Christian  populations  should  cease,  and  sustained  efforts 
be  made  for  the  improvement  of  their  condition.  The  recent 
Protocol,  with  its  phrases  carefully  selected  so  as  to  guard 
against  a  defined  liability  to  any  but  verbal  interference^ 
merely  expresses  the  general  determination  to  avoid  war,  and 
does  not  prescribe  any  definite  procedure.  That  which  it  is 
important  to  look  to  is  the  extent  to  which  the  situation  has 
been  altered  by  the  grave  events  which  have  occurred,  and 
what  light  is  thrown  upon  our  failure  in  international  duty  in 
the  past  years,  and  upon  the  course  to  be  adopted  in  order  to 
remedy  former  neglect  and  ensure  a  faithful  discharge  of  our 
duty,  in  the  future. 

Russia  has,  no  doubt,  whether  with  good  or  evil  intentions, 
administered  by  her  action  in  the  recent  crisis  a  powerful  impulse 
to  the  cause  of  humanity.  She  is  entitled  to  that  credit,  what- 
ever we  may  think  of  her  motives  of  action.  As  regards  the 
extension  of  her  boundaries  there  is  a  remarkable  saying  by  the 
author  of  ^  The  Two  Chancellors,'  that  '  Russia  has  never  found 
herself  so  far  from  her  aims  as  when  she  has  endeavoured  to 
hasten  the  catastrophe.  In  1829,  when  her  armies  were  almost 
in  sight  of  Constantinople,  she  was  forced  to  withdraw;  in 
1854  the  fruits  of  her  campaign  in  Hungary  and  the  pre- 
eminence accruing  to  her  from  her  immunity  from  the  revo- 
lutionary 


Turkey.  591 

lutionary  wars  of  1848  were  entirely  swept  away.'  In  1877^ 
after  years  of  manceuvre  and  even  active  hostility,  she  is  obliged 
to  withdraw  her  forces  and  desist  from  her  intrigues,  or  to 
set  all  Europe  at  defiance  by  declaring  war.  The  Treaty  of 
Paris,  which  in  1871  was  ratified  by  statesmen  as  the  public 
law  of  Europe,  is  upheld  in  1877,  by  whole  nations,  as  the 
embodiment  of  international  law  in  reference  to  the  Eastern 
Question. 

The  result  of  this  protracted  strife  is  a  revolution  in  Turkey^ 
The  dynasty  has  been  changed,  new  men  have  come  to  the  front, 
a  variety  of  new  institutions  have  been  created.  Social  and 
political  relations  within  the  empire  have  been  altered,  and  a 
greater  significance  has  been  given  to  its  position  as  a  member 
of  the  great  family  of  European  nations.  Whatever  differences 
may  separate  the  Powers,  they  are  at  least  united  in  their  repro- 
bation of  Turkish  misrule,  and  in  the  enimciation  of  the  reforms 
by  which  that  misrule  may  be  abolished,  and  its  effects  gradually 
obliterated.  If  the  moral  effect  of  that  union  has  been  to  forbid 
measures  of  coercion,  on  the  other  hand  it  has  roused  the  Turks 
from  their  lethargy  and  security.  Whether  we  view  the  trans- 
formation, which  they  are  obviously  endeavouring  to  effect,  with 
distrust  or  with  confidence,  all  agree  that  for  the  present,  at  leasts 
it  must  not  be  broken  in  upon  by  war.  A  general  consensus  of 
opinion  grants  to  the  Turk  the  time  and  opportunity  to  recast 
his  administration,  and  if  possible  his  genera]  relations  to  his 
subject  peoples.  Aggression  would,  under  the  circumstances, 
be  generally  condemned ;  but  a  total  neglect  of  past  warnings 
on  the  part  of  the  Turk,  and  continued  defiance  of  that  public 
opinion,  which  has  dealt  so  leniently  with  him,  might  in  na 
distant  future  lead  to  disastrous  consequences. 

But  the  Powers  of  Europe  are  not  absolved.  If  the  integrity 
and  independence  of  the  Ottoman  Empire  is  a  cardinal  point  in 
the  policy  of  Europe,  and  the  present  condition  of  its  inhabitants 
menaces  the  continuance  of  that  policy,  the  Powers,  and  par- 
ticularly Great  Britain,  must  not  again  relapse  into  indifference. 
In  the  past  twenty  years,  scarcely  any  controlling  influence, 
external  or  internal,  has  been  brought  to  bear  upon  the  Ottoman 
Government.  A  watchful,  authoritative  interference,  such  as  Lord 
Stratford  de  Redcliffe  used  to  exercise,  has  ceased;  both  the 
man  and  the  means  have  been  wanting.  Yet  the  chief  vice  of 
Turkish  government  is  not  its  hostility  to  the  interests  of  its 
subjects,  or  even  its  disposition  to  cruelty ;  on  the  contrary,  it  is 
tolerant,  and,  as  a  general  rule,  humane.  It  is  weak,  negligent, 
and  corrupt ;  and  its  exchequer  is  empty.     The  great  need  is  of 

a  constant^ 


592  Turhey. 

A  constant,  powerful,  and  friendly  pressure  ;  which,  if  honestly 
brought  to  bear,  will  be  aided  by  the  spirit  of  reform  which  is 
abroad,  and  may  effectively  supply  the  place  of  popular  leaders 
in  giving  life  and  force  to  institutions  which  are  intended,  as  far 
as  they  go,  to  ensure  a  popular  control  over  the  administration. 

Such  pressure  should  be  applied,  if  possible,  by  the  Powers 
in  concert ;  but  chiefly  by  this  country,  which  is  by  tradition 
the  chief  friend  of  the  Porte,  by  its  geographical  position  most 
anxious  for  the  integrity  of  the  empire,  by  its  general  interests 
most  favourable  to  its  strength  and  prosperity.  We  must  cancel 
the  invectives  of  the  past  few  months,  and  restore  the  reforming 
policy  of  Lord  Palmerston,  which  was  subsequently  laid  aside 
from  motives  of  economy,  and  in  the  spirit  of  non-intervention. 
Though  an  International  Commission  with  powers  of  control  is 
impracticable,  the  purpose  of  its  proposed  existence  remains, 
and  may  be  steadily  pursued  by  means  of  diplomatic  pressure, 
the  exercise  of  international  interference  within  those  limits 
which  the  Sultan's  Government  has  throughout  conceded.  Such 
interference  need  not  be  joint,  in  the  sense  of  being  concerted 
beforehand ;  Russia  may  still  be  chiefly  solicitous  for  the  Greek 
Christians,  and  France  for  the  Roman  Catholic  subjects ;  the 
protection  of  the  British  Embassy  may  be  thrown  equally  over  all 
sects  and  all  races.  It  is  prudent  to  contemplate  the  contingency 
of  Russian  influence  being  secretly  but  resolutely  exercised  in 
opposition  to  a  policy  which  shall  infuse  new  life  and  vigour  into 
the  Empire  and  Government.  That  the  Northern  Cabinet  is 
hostile  to  the  reformation  which  European  interests  demand,  is 
a  view,  which  however  derided  from  time  to  time  by  Opposition 
opinion,  is  at  least  supported  by  cogent  evidence,  and  has  been 
uniformly  adopted  by  most  of  the  leading  statesmen  who  have 
.successively  ruled  Great  Britain.  The  contentment  of  the  Slav 
population,  the  removal  of  all  causes  of  insurrection,  and  the 
gradual  growth  of  their  prosperity,  would  prove  to  be  the  firmest 
barrier  against  hostile  encroachment.  To  carry  out  the  true 
British  policy,  the  first  need  is  the  presence  in  Constantinople 
of  a  statesman  of  experience,  capacity,  and  will,  strongly  backed 
up  from  home,  of  incessant  vigilance  to  ascertain  the  existence 
of  abuses  or  the  occurrence  of  misdeeds,  of  unflinching  determina- 
tion to  obtain  their  redress  from  the  Ottoman  Minister,  and  if  need 
be  from  the  Sultan  himself,  and  of  personal  influence  to  ensure 
the  co-operation  of  his  colleagues.  In  Mr.  Layard  this  country 
has  found  a  fitting  representative.  But  the  policy  which  his 
appointment  represents  must  not  be  the  accident  of  the  hour :  it 
must  reflect  the  settled  determination  of  the  English  people  to 

discharge 


Turkey.  593 

discharge  with   patience  and  steadiness  the  obligations  which 
they  admitted  last  autumn. 

In  carrying  out  this  policy,  economy  must  not  be  the  first 
consideration.  We  are  gainers,  financially  and  otherwise,  by 
the  resolution  and  success  with  which  the  Turks  defend  their 
empire.  Their  failure  would  sooner  or  later  entail  upon  us 
great  efforts  and  great  sacrifices,  with  which  those  of  the  Crimean 
War  could  scarcely  be  compared.  The  British  Embassy  should 
be  supported  by  an  efficient  consular  service.  There  should  be 
intelligent  and  trustworthy  consuls  in  the  principal  places — ^Vice- 
consuls  and  consular  agents  in  all  parts,  not  merely  of  European 
Turkey,  but  of  the  whole  Empire.  It  should  be  rendered  impos- 
sible that  such  transactions  as  the  massacre  at  Batak  should  ever 
recur  without  the  British  Ambassador  being  at  once  informed  of 
it,  and  without  his  at  once  discharging  the  duty  of  an  English 
Representative  at  the  Court  of  Constantinople.  He  should  be, 
moreover,  armed  with  the  authority  and  the  means  to  despatch 
his  agents  to  inquire  and  report  as  to  any  instance  of  cruelty  and 
oppression  which  might  be  brought  to  his  notice.  In  a  word,  he 
should  lay  aside,  once  and  for  ever,  the  policy  of  non-interven- 
tion ;  and  exercise  instead,  with  firmness,  severity,  justice  and 
consideration,  as  complete  a  supei^ision  over  the  details  of 
administration  as  is  consistent  with  outward  respect  for  the 
sovereignty  of  the  Sultan.  He  has  to  deal  with  a  Government 
which  is  negligent  and  extortionate,  but  which  is  not  hostile  to 
the  welfare  of  its  people  or  to  the  diplomatic  interference  of 
a  Power  which  is  friendly  and  just.  Above  all  things  he  should 
endeavour  to  gain  the  confidence  of  the  Turks,  and  to  convince 
them  that  he  is  animated  by  a  spirit  of  justice,  and  by  a  desire 
to  consult  their  best  interests.  One  of  his  foremost  duties  will 
be  to  encourage  good  selections  of  provincial  Governors,  and 
(which  is  the  most  important  point  of  all)  stability  of  tenure 
when  once  a  good  appointment  is  made.  The  corruption  con- 
nected with  the  filling  up  and  removals  from  those  important 
offices  is  one  of  the  chief  blots  in  the  whole  system  of  Turkish 
government.  There  is  much  in  what  passed  during  the  Con- 
ference to  which  he  can  appeal,  as  justifying  and  giving  weight 
to  his  interference  on  this  head.  The  undivided  responsibility 
of  the  appointment  must  rest  with  the  Sultanas  Ministry,  but 
much  may  be  done  to  check  a  corrupt  or  capricious  exercise 
of  power. 

The  despatches  of  Mr.  Consul  Holmes  are  instructive  in 
reference  to  these  appointments.  His  suggestion  ('  Papers,'  No.  I. 
p.  309)  that  they  should  be  made  with  the  consent  of  the  Powers 

Vol.  143.— iVb.  286.  2  Q  must. 


594  Turhei/. 

must,  after  the  proceedings  at  the  Conference,  be  abandoned. 
But  his  remarks  as  to  the  present  necessity  for  a  '  paternal  despot- 
ism/ and  the  measures  adapted  to  prepare  the  people  hereajfter 
for  an    intelligent    share    in    their  own  government,  are  well 
worthy  of  attentive   consideration.     Writing   in    reference  to 
Bosnia,  a  province  in  which  he  has  had  long  experience,  he 
urges  that  a  Viceroy  should  have  sole  responsibility,  with  the 
nomination  of  all  subordinate  officials.     The  native  Medjiisses 
should  be  entirely  abolished  and  single  individuals  appointed, 
responsible  to  the  Viceroy.    ^  I  am  convinced  that  a  paternal 
despotism  is  at  present  the  only  possible  government  for  this 
benighted  and  divided  people.     Until  now,  the  experiment  of 
having  the  administrative  power  almost  entirely  in  the  hands  of 
the  native  Slav  Mussulmans  has  been  tried  for  five  centuries, 
and  has  miserably  failed.     There  has  been  no  party  directly 
responsible  for  the  conduct  of  affairs.     The  Governor  evades  it, 
and  the  Medjiisses  evade  it,  each  endeavouring  to  fix  it  on  the 
other ;  and  the  latter  have  always  managed  to  make  everything 
subservient  to  their  own  narrow  ideas  of  self-interest.'     The 
guarantees  for  the  good  conduct  of  those  Viceroys,  upon  whose 
honesty  and  administrative  capacity   the  immediate  future  of 
Turkey  depends,  must  bc^  foimd.      A  system    of  checks  and 
counter-checks  on  the  spot  will  not  be  sufficient  to  provide  them^ 
The  influence  of  the  Powers  may  effect  suitable  appointments, 
the  reports  of  Consuls  on  their  administration  should  be  allowed 
due  weight  in  regard  to  the  retention  of  office,  and    acts  of 
corrupt  or  oppressive  exercise  of  authority  should  be  noted,  and 
protests  against  them  protected.     Whatever  facilities  of  local 
control  may  appear  to  be  afforded  by  the  Constitution,  can  onlj 
be  effective  with  the  aid  of  constant  pressure  upon  the  central 
government. 

No  one  cause  has  done  so  much  to  produce  Turkish  mis- 
government  as  the  corrupt  choice  of  Governors  and  the  practice 
of  continually  changing  them.  It  is  not,  however,  by  curtailing 
their  power,  but  by  increasing  their  responsibility,  that  their 
efficiency  will  be  really  promoted.  Local  councils  would  be 
apt  to  become  a  screen  to  the  guilty,  rather  than  a  useful  aid  to 
the  honest.  The  appointment  of  assessors,  to  Judges  and 
Governors,  of  different  religious  belief  from  themselves,  with  a 
discretion  to  subject  every  decree  or  executive  act  to  an  appeal 
to  Constantinople,  would  be  more  in  accordance  with  Lord 
Palmerston's  views.  The  influence  of  the  English  embassy 
might  usefully  be  exercised  in  favour  of  the  appointment  of 
foreigners  of  suitable  experience  and  reputation.     In  organising 

their 


Turkey.  595 

their  army  and  navy  the  Turks  have  availed  themselves  of  such 
services.  The  greatest  want  of  the  country  is  a  system  of  every- 
day justice — the  reform  of  its  tax-gathering  and  its  courts.  If 
this  system  could  be  more  effectively  reorganised  by  foreign  aid 
than  by  native  officers,  who  have  grown  up  under  a  regime 
which  is  opposed  to  equality  and  justice,  there  ought  to  be  no 
great  difficulty  in  winning  the  assent  of  the  Sultan.  In  educa- 
tion, the  judiciary,  finance,  and  public  works,  competent  and 
honest  agents,  not  used  for  the  purposes  of  intrigue,  would  be 
of  infinite  service ;  and  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that  this 
would  be  acceptable. 

Nothing  comes  out  clearer  in  these  Blue  Books  than  the  fact 
that  what  is  wanted  in  Turkey  is  the  man^  rather  than  the  insti- 
tution. A  liberal  education,  apart  from  the  control  of  Turkish 
Mollahs  and  Greek  priests,  may  replace  the  present  generation 
by  a  more  enlightened  one,  fit  to  take  at  least  so  much  share  in 
self-government  as  will  suffice  to  render  arbitrary  misconduct  in 
their  Governors  difficult  and  dangerous.  No  faith  can  be 
blindly  reposed  in  municipal  elective  assemblies  which  seek 
to  reproduce  the  later  growths  of  Western  civilisation  in  the 
uncongenial  atmosphere  and  surroundings  of  the  East.  So  far 
as  they  ensure  publicity  and  encourage  discussion  they  may  be 
fostered  into  usefulness,  but  it  is  impossible  that  an  effective 
power  of  control  can  be  found  in  them.  Even  the  more  enlightened 
of  the  Christians  will  not  have  the  courage  to  sit  in  them,  or  if 
they  did  even  to  the  extent  of  forming  a  majority,  the  Mussulman 
minority  would  still  prevail.  Mr.  Holmes  tells  us  (No.  I. 
p.  602)  that  in  1854  Lord  Stratford  de  Redcliffe  instructed  him, 
while  Acting  Consul  at  Monastir,  to  endeavour  to  persuade 
some  of  the  more  wealthy  and  influential  Christian  merchants 
and  proprietors  of  the  place  to  enter  the  Medjliss  and  make  ai 
bold  stand  against  injustice  and  oppression.  But  all  his  efforts 
were  useless  to  induce  any  man  of  substance  to  accept  the 
position  ;  although  the  Christians  of  that  place  were  very  much 
in  advance  of  those  of  Bosnia  in  education,  influence,  and 
wealth.  He  adds  that  it  is  not  only  in  Bosnia  and  at  Monastir, 
but  at  Erzeroom,  Kars,  Trebizond,  Diarbekir,  Aleppo,  Damascus, 
and  all  places  in  Turkey  which  he  has  visited,  that  those  local 
councils  are  the  bane  of  the  administration  and  the  insurmount- 
able obstacle  to  progress  and  reform.  The  hope  of  better  govern- 
ment lies  in  conceding  real  power  to  the  Governors,  and  in 
rendering  it  the  personal  interest  of  them  and  their  subordinates 
to  govern  successfully,  instead  of  using  their  offices  for  the  purpose 
of  enriching  themselves,  to  the  neglect  of  all  administration. 

2  Q  2  The 


596  Turkey. 

The  stimulus  to  Improvement  must  be  administered  bv  the 
central  government ;  and  unless  the  lesson  of  the  last  two  years, 
its  extremity  of  peril,  the  imminence  of  a  last  struggle  for 
existence  have  predisposed  it  to  reform  and  to  accept  the  assist- 
ance of  the  Powers  in  carrying  it  out,  we  shall  be  as  far  as  ever 
from  a  solution  of  the  Eastern  Question. 

It  cannot  be  too  often  repeated  that  self-government  is  not  at 
present  the  cure  for  Turkish  disorders.  The  materials  for  it  do 
not  exist.  The  idea  of  the  Mussulman  is  complete  domination 
over  the  Christian ;  that  of  the  Christian  is  submission,  and  a 
share  of  the  booty  if  he  is  temporarily  admitted  to  share  in 
authority.  A  paternal  despotism  is  necessary,  till  education  has 
founded  and  time  has  strengthened  new  ideas  and  new  habits  in 
the  people.  It  is  idle  to  expect  such  a  form  of  government 
from  Russia ;  nor  is  any  other  Power  capable  of  affording  it 
If  diplomatic  influence  and  pressure,  utilising  the  existing 
materials,  can  strengthen  the  impulses  to  improvement  which 
have  been  born  of  recent  calamity  and  sense  of  future  peril,  by 
securing  in  its  favour  the  self-interest  of  all  who  participate 
in  government,  there  is  still  hope  for  the  Ottoman  Empire. 
In  this  task  England  must  not  shrink  from  undertaking  the 
leading  part.  It  is  not  to  the  interest  of  Russia  that  the  lasting 
tranquillity  of  the  Christian  population  should  be  secured.  But 
that  object  is  of  permanent  interest  to  this  country,  not  merely 
in  the  interests  of  humanity,  but  because  the  permanence  of  the 
existing  settlement  of  Europe,  which  ultimately  depends  upon 
the  better  government  of  the  Turkish  provinces,  vitally  affects 
the  welfare  of  the  British  Empire. 

Even  if  war  should  be  averted,  which  now  seems  improbable, 
Turkey  will  have  only  a  respite.  Every  one  is  agreed  that  the 
government  of  Turkey  is  radically  bad  ;  that  she  cannot  con- 
tinue in  her  present  state ;  that  she  must  be  reformed,  or  will 
perish.  The  only  question  is  whether  these  reforms  are  to  be 
made  from  without  or  within ;  whether  they  are  to  be  forced 
upon  her  by  the  intervention  of  Foreign  Powers,  or  whether  she 
is  to  be  allowed  to  introduce  them  herself.  This  issue  was 
practically  settled  by  the  Conference  at  Constantinople,  con- 
firmed by  the  almost  unanimous  opinion  of  the  British 
Parliament.  Turkey  has  decided  for  herself  as  to  the  reforms 
which  she  will  introduce,  and  the  set  of  institutions  which  she 
will  create.  There  is  no  reason  to  doubt  but  that  she  will 
gladly  accept  from  friendly  Powers  the  continuance  of  that 
participation  in  her  internal  affairs  which  she  has  admitted  as 
within  their  right.     And   it  must  be  the  object  especially  of 

England 


Turkey.  597 

England  to  render  such  a  mediation  effective  by  vigilance  and 
firmness,  and  by  utilising  for  that  purpose  whatever  means  and 
opportunities  the  new  Constitution  may  have  provided. 

Mr.  Layard  has  special  and  pre-eminent  qualifications  for  the 
difficult  post  which  he  now  fills.  Trained  in  the  school  of 
Lord  Stratford  de  Redcliffe,  possessing  an  intimate  knowledge 
of  the  Turks  and  other  races  of  that  empire,  with  a  long 
experience  in  Spain  of  a  disorganised  society  and  of  govern- 
ment scarcely  able  to  cope  with  the  perplexities  of  administra- 
tion, possessing  great  energy  and  decision  of  character,  he  will' 
neither  condone  the  faults  nor  pass  over  the  offences  of  the 
ruling  classes,  while  his  appreciation  of  what  is  really  good  in 
the  Turkish  character  will,  we  believe,  cause  his  advice  to  be 
accepted  and  his  remonstrances  heeded.  We  therefore  antici- 
pate the  best  results  from  his  endeavours  to  exercise  the 
influence  of  this  country  for  the  good  of  all  the  inhabitants  of 
the  country,  Turks  as  well  as  Christians.  The  appointment 
of  Mr.  Layard  is  a  sign  that  there  is  no  shadow  of  wavering  in 
the  policy  of  the  Cabinet;  and  that  the  same  firmness  and 
tenacity  of  purpose,  which  have  contrasted  so  signally  with  the 
feebleness  of  a  former  epoch,  in  the  self-respect  which  they  have 
imparted  to  the  nation,  and  in  the  effective  influence  which 
they  have  exercised  over  the  course  of  events,  will  continue  to 
be  displayed  for  the  future. 

Mr.  Layard  will,  if  various  indications  in  these  Blue  Books 

of  Count  Andrassy's  policy  may  be  trusted,  have  the  support  and 

co-operation  of  Austria  in  the  discharge  of  his  difficidt  duties. 

But  it  is  in  vain  to  calculate  upon  the  identity  of  interests  and 

policy  between  England  and  any  European  State,  with  its  variable 

fortunes  in  reference  to  this  unchanging  Eastern  Question.     The 

primary  object  of  Englishmen  must  be  to  grasp  its  true  position 

as  it  affects  the  interests  of  humanity  and  the  interests  of  their 

empire.     Above  all  things,  there  is  the  necessity  for  maintaining 

inviolate  the  dominions  of  the  Turk.     Their  invasion  means 

that   the    truce  between  Christianity  and   Islamism   is  ended, 

and  that  in  an  age  of  steam  and  telegraphic  communication, 

and  of  the  most  destructive  machinery   of  war,  the   struggle 

of  religious  fanaticism  will  be  revived  upon  an  extended  scale, 

and  be   intensified   as   the  war   proceeds.      It   means   further, 

to  use  the  language  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington,*  a  general 

insurrection  of  all  the  subject  peoples  in  European  Turkey,  a 

general   conflict   between   the   Powers   whose   interests  in  the 


♦  *  Despatches  of  the  Duke  of  WeUington '  (New  Series,  vol.  iv.  p.  277). 

expected 


598  Turkey.    ! 

expected  wreck  of  the  Ottoman  Empire  would  be  immediately 
brought  into  collision.  The  Turkish  Government  once  fallen 
could  never  be  replaced,  and  no  alternative  arrangement  in 
which  all  would  acquiesce  has  ever  been  suggested.  Even  the 
orators  of  last  autumn,  those,  at  least,  who  retained  any  calm- 
ness of  speech  or  judgment,  admitted  the  necessity  for  the 
existing  empire,  but  inveighed  against  the  continuance  of 
Turkish  authority  within  the  three  provinces.  British  philan- 
thropists have  succeeded  in  involving  Russia  in  disaster,  pro- 
*  longing  the  miseries  of  Turkish  subjects,  and  conferring  upon 
the  Sultan's  Government  at  the  Conference  a  great  diplomatic 
triumph,  while  they  have  increased  the  difficulties  and  impaired 
the  influence  of  their  own  country.  They  omitted  to  regard  any 
contingency  but  that  of  united  Europe  forcing  its  will  on  the 
Turk.  Confronted  by  an  unexpected  non  possumusy  their  states- 
manship is  exhausted.  Coercion  is  found  to  be  impossible,  and 
they  in  the  meanwhile  have  precluded  themselves  from  discuss- 
ing the  only  measures  which  are  now  of  practical  importance, 
viz.  the  means  of  restoring  an  influence  which,  in  order  to  be 
effective,  must  be  friendly.  It  is  a  warning  for  all  time  not  to 
hamper  English  diplomacy  by  party  demonstrations. 

It  is  impossible  to  treat  the  Protocol  as  furnishing  directly  or 
indirectly  the  materials  for  an  ultimatum.  Whatever  occasion 
for  war  may  be  found,  it  must  be  in  occurrences  subsequent  to 
the  signing  of  the  Protocol,  and  cannot  arise  out  of  circumstances 
antecedent  to  it.  The  difficulty  is  reduced  to  that  of  effecting 
mutual  disarmament.  It  is  impossible  to  say  that  a  Power 
which  mobilises  a  large  force  for  use  upon  its  neighbour's 
territory  thereby  acquires  any  right  to  dictate  to  that  neighbour 
and  ally  the  mode  in  which  he  should  disband  the  forces  which 
he  has  collected  for  defence.  Nor  can  it  give  such  a  Power  the 
right  to  prescribe  terms  of  peace  between  that  neighbour  and 
one  of  his  vassal  States.  Yet  the  present  menace  of  hostilities^ 
which  undoubtedly  hangs  over  Europe,  results  solely  from  inter- 
national difficulties  as  to  disarmament  and  the  terms  of  peace 
with  Montenegro. 

Under  these  circumstances,  in  proportion  as  Russia  has  by 
the  diplomacy  of  the  last  four  months  thrown  away  all  pretext 
of  independent  action,  resulting  from  the  internal  disorders  of 
the  Turkish  State,  so  it  is  her  duty  to  accept  the  mediation  of  the 
signataries  of  the  Protocol  in  every  difficulty  which  arises  out  of 
a  state  of  things  which  she  has  herself  created.  It  is  impossible 
that  a  casus  belli  can  legitimately  arise  to  Russia  out  of  the 
details    of  disarmament,    or  out   of  the    negotiations    between 

Turkey 


Turkey.  599 

Turkey  and  Montenegro.  And  so  far  from  any  war  which  may 
«nsue  being  for  the  protection  of  the  Christians,  the  terms  of 
Aussia's  present  engagement  with  the  Powers  deprive  her  of 
any  such  pretext,  and  bind  her  to  respect  the  unanimous  wish 
of  Europe  that  Turkish  endeavours  to  reform  should  be 
unmolested  by  aggression. 

If  war  does  break  out,  as  a  consequence  of  the  insurmountable 
difficulties  of  terminating  hostilities,  which  have  in  part  been 
openly  threatened,  in  part  unofficially  waged,  it  must  be  clearly 
understood  that  it  occurs  in  defiance  of  European  opinion,  after 
all  pretext  for  it  has  been  thrown  away,  and  after  Turkey  has 
admittedly  displayed  the  wish  and  earned  the  right  to  contri- 
bute her  share  to  the  work  of  pacification,  by  improving  the 
state  of  her  government.  A  war  of  aggression  is  condemned 
by  the  universal  voice  of  Christendom.  All  that  has  happened 
since  the  Conference  serves  to  accentuate  the  deep  reluctance 
with  which  every  nation  in  Europe  contemplates  the  prospect 
of  hostilities.  And  if  it  should  turn  out  that  Russia  has  been 
deceiving  Europe,  and  has  been  simply  gaining  time  in  order 
to  be  prepared  to  crush  Turkey  with  an  army  of  irresistible 
strength,  and  that  her  real  object  has  been  not  the  amelioration 
of  the  Christian  population,  but  aggrandisement  and  conquest, 
we  would  emphatically  warn  her  against  supposing  that  England 
would  look  tamely  on.  If  Russia  counts  upon  the  neutrality  of 
England  under  all  circumstances,  she  will  commit  the  same  fatal 
mistake  as  she  did  in  1853,  when  she  believed  that  the  views  of 
Lord  Aberdeen  and  of  the  Peace  Party  really  represented  the 
settled  convictions  of  the  English  people.  A  great  change  has 
already  taken  place,  and  is  still  taking  place,  in  English  opinion, 
if  not  in  favour  of  the  Turks,  at  any  rate  in  opposition  to  Russia ; 
and  if  it  should  become  clear  that  Russia  has  only  been  using 
philanthropy  and  Christianity  as  pretexts  to  cloak  her  own 
ambitious  schemes,  she  may  be  assured  that  such  a  storm  of 
indignation  would  arise  in  this  country  against  her  treachery 
and  perfidy  as  to  throw  into  oblivion  all  the  misdeeds  of  Turkey. 
We  have  good  reason  for  believing  that  Russian  statesmen  have 
been  greatly  misinformed  as  to  the  real  state  of  public  opinion 
in  this  country.  There  is  no  desire  to  support  the  Turks  simply 
as  Turks ;  but  that  there  is  a  settled  resolution  to  defend  the 
empire  which  our  fathers  have  created,  no  reasonable  politician 
can  pretend  to  doubt.  The  long  discussions  of  this  Question 
have  not  been  without  their  result.  The  Power  which  rules  over 
India  and  other  possessions  of  importance  in  the  East,  and  to 
whose  safety  the  supremacy  of  the  seas  and  the  security  of  the 

road 


600  Turhey. 

road  to  India  arc  essential,  will  never  allow  the  command  of 
Constantinople  and  the  Dardanelles  to  pass  into  the  hands 
of  an  ambitious  and  aggressive  State  without  a  determined 
struggle.  No  English  Ministry  would  stand  idle  while  the 
attempt  was  made,  and  the  British  fleet  would  be  anchored 
in  the  Bosphorus  before  the  Russians  appeared  under  the  walls 
of  Constantinople. 


lNP::x. 


(    601    ) 


INDEX 


TO  TEE 


HUNDRED  AKD  FOBTY-THIBD  VOLUME  OF  THE 

QUARTEBLY  REVIEW.  , 


A. 

I,  Lord,  reply  to  Lord  Palmer- 
i  the  Eastern  Qnestion,  370 — 
resip^ation  in  1853,  376,  378. 
8  criticism  of  *  Parsldise  Lost,' 
►3  —  the  *  Commonplaces '   in 
essay,  334— literary  criticism, 
lalm  and  polished  humour,  414 
roversial  writings,  ib. 
pread  of  Islam  in,  233,  234. 
^uth,  its  productiveness,  132. 
ure  in  Russia,  477 — hindrance 
mr,  478. 

er  II.  of  Russia,  emancipation 
Serfs,  475,  477. 

n  children,  effect  of  their  living 
•lie,  251. 
•  ladies  after  a  night  journey, 

-  mania  for  titles,  248. 

-  morality,  252. 

xpedition,  the,  147 — climatic 
ices,  148,  149— its  object,  149 
;ial  success  of  other  nations, 
public  opinion  and  conditions 
otic  exploration,  151 — special 
ittee  for  deciding  route,  153 
•man  expeditions,  155-157 — 
Torth-west  Passage,  157  —  ex- 

160— limit  of  other  disooveries, 
theory  about  the  Polar  Sea,  162 
jocryatic  ice,  103 — diflferenoe  of 
;cmperature  of  the  Equator  and 
►les,  164— the  Gulf  Stream,  165 
jrvatories,  166— effect  of  giavi- 

and  cold  on  the  pendulum, 
167 — the  chronometers,  169 
et  to  Captain  Hall's  memory, 
srrors  in  the  American  charts, 
discovery  of  coal,  174 — osoilla- 
'  the  land,  175 — submersion  and 
ence  of  the  earth,  176— ocean 

U3.—No.  286. 


currents,  178-180— trade-winds,  179 
— outbreak  of  scurvy,  182-185. 
Arnold,  Matthew,  Celtic  influence  on 
Icelandic  writers,  54. 

B. 

Balance  of  Power,  the,  52fi — Mr.  Lowe's 
opinion,  527— its  usefulness,  529 — 
nationalities  formed,  530 — ^fiiilnre  of 
Charles  V.,  532 — corruptio  WUmi  of 
Philip,  534— policy  of  En^nd,  <b. 
— position  of  France,  53&-540-— re- 
sistance of  Holland,  540 — erroneous 
opinions  of,  542 — seizure  of  Silesia  by 
Frederick  the  Great,  543 — ^partition 
of  Poland,  544— ooatition  of  Europe, 
against  France,  545 — instances  of 
the  use  and  abuse  of,  547— quota- 
tions ftY)m  recent  authors,  548-550. 

Battlo-cries  of  the  ancient  Irish,  63. 

Beaumont,  Commander,  on  the  sledge 
expeditions,  184, 185. 

Biographies,  political,  361 — sanctity  of 
private  correspondence,  363,  364— 
letters  between  Lords  Palmerston  and 
Normanby,  365-369 — between  Lords 
Aberdeen  and  Palmerston,  376-378. 

Boer,  the,  or  Dutch  farmer  at  the  Ce{>e, 
107-109 — their  immigration,  114. 

Boleyn,  Anne,  13 — illness,  34— ^mar- 
riage,  36. 

Boris  Godunow,  473— restrictiouB  on 
the  Russiiin  peasantry,  ib, 

Bosnians,  the,  sufferings  from  the 
Corvfe,  287. 

Bowles  criticised  for  his  work  on  Pope, 
322— on  Pope's  versification,  352. 

Brewer,  J.  8.,  *  Letters  and  Papers  of 
the  Reign  of  Henry  VIU.',  1— ex- 
planation of  the  origin  of  the  divorce^ 
45— indulgence  for  Wolsev,  49, 50. 

Brief,  the  Spanish,  38 — doubt  whethei 

2b 


602 


INDEX  TO  VOL.  143. 


&l8e  or  gennine,  38,  39 — ^flaw  in  date, 
89 — meafiures  for  resisting  it,  40. 

Brigham  Young,  his  wives,  258 — ^inter- 
view with  Baron  Hiibner,  259. 

Brillat-Savarin,  on  the  *  rinsing  glass,' 
381— smell  and  taste,  400. 

Brougham,  Lord,  described  by  Harriet 
Martineau,  510,  514. 

Buckmaster,  Mr.,  lectures  at  the  Inter- 
national Exhibition  in  1873-74,  386. 

Bulgarians,  the  Christian,  288— suffer- 
ings from  the  Circassian  colonies, 
289 — Protestant  missionaries,  ib, 

Bums's  denunciation  of  ecclesiastical 
hypocrisy,  420. 

Byron  compared  with  Pope  in  his  com- 
mon-sense, 358. 

0. 

Campeggio*s  mission  to  Henry  YIII., 
32-35--advice  to  Catherine,  36 — his 
testimony  to  Anne  Boleyn's  inno- 
cence, 42 — returns  to  Rome,  44. 
Cape  of  Good  Hope,  the,  its  importance 
to  Great  Britain,  105— history  and 
inhabitants,  106. 
Carlyle,  Mr.,  described  by  Harriet  Mar- 
tineau, 515. 
Carnarvon,  Lord,  on  a  revision  of  native 

management  in  South  Africa,  142. 

Catharine  of  Aragon,  loss  of  her  youth, 

7— desertion  by  Henry  VIII.,  13 — 

pTOfpreaa  of  the  divorce,  15— deserted 

by  her  advisers,  23 — urged  by  the 

Pope  to  close  her  life  in  a  convent,  36 

— her  confession  to  Campeggio,  37. 

Cerebrum  of  man  compared  to  that  of 

a  fish,  91 — removal  of,  in  pigeons,  93. 

Champagne,  its  deterioration  to  suit  the 

English  palate,  396,  397. 
Charles  V.,  his  promises  to  Wolsey,  3 
— refuses  to  keep  his  engagements,  6 
— takes  Pope  Clement  prisoner,  14 — 
allows  him  to  escape,  19 — splendid 
offecs  to  him,  83 — objects  to  Wolsey, 
42 — idea  of  the  balance  of  power,  532. 
Cheyenne,  the  vigilance  committee,  261. 
Chicago,  249— the    Michigan    avenue, 
250— Hotel  life  and  want  of  domes- 
ticity, effect  on  the  children,  251 . 
Chinese,  decadence  of,  275 — autocratic 

character  of  the  government,  276. 
Chopin,  his    connection   with    George 

Sand,  441 — literary  influence,  ib. 
Chronometers,  the,  for  the  Arctic  Ex- 
pedition, their  slight  variation,  169. 
Circumcision,  the  rite  of,  not  mentioned 

in  the  Co'rdn,  223. 
element.  Pope,  12 — imprisoned,  14 — 
allowed    to  escape,  19 — advice   to 


Henry  VIIT.,  20— receives  Gardiner 
at  Onrieto,  29 — consents  to  the  oom- 
mission,  31 — complains  of  the  perfidy 
of  Wolsey,  35. 

Clergy,  Greek,  in  Turkey,  their  igno- 
rance and  corruption,  285. 

,  Russian,  their  degraded  and 

despised  condition,  47&---refual  of 
the  peasants  to  contribute  to  their 
support,  480— drunkenness,  483. 

Clerk,  Sir  George,  on  the  policy  of  the 
British  Government  in  reference  to 
the  Cape  Colony,  105 — Commiasioiier 
to  the  Boers,  114--at  the  Onnge 
river,  116— on  the  boundary,  124. 

Coal  discovered  by  Mr.  Hart  on  the 
Arctic  expedition.  174. 

Coffee,  roasted  ana  ground  at  home, 
400— Pope  describes  Swift's  maebioe 
for  that  purpose^  401. 

Cookery,  national  training  schooli  for, 
391 — increase  in  their  number,  892. 

Co'rin,  the,  influence  oU  224— nuumer 
of  its  dictation,  225— humane  piOTi- 
sions,  229. 

Corinne,  its  population,  260. 

Correctness  in  poetry,  its  standiid, 
various  opinions  on,  327-331. 

CorvSey  the,  in  Turkey,  578. 

Court  -  manners,  disquisition  in  the 
•  King's  Mirror,*  71-76. 

Croll,  Mr.,  on  ocean  currents,  179. 

D. 

Dalling,  Lord,  his  eminent  qualities 
for  writing  Lord  Palmerston'e  life, 
363. 

De  Quincey  on  Pope's  *  Essay  on  Criti- 
cism,* 333— on  the  correctnew  of 
Pope's  writing,  348,  349. 

Diamond  Fielcfi  of  South  Africa,  the, 
132— a  separate  government  at,  139. 

Druitt,  Dr.,  *  Essay  on  Cheap  Wines,' 
898-400. 

Dryden  and  Pope  compared,  346,  S5S- 
355. 

Duhamel,  General,  on  the  various  rosds 
from  Bussia  to  India,  562-565. 

R 

Eastern  Question,  the,  and  the  Con- 
ference, 276— articles  of  the  Treaty 
of  Paris,  278— *  balance  of  power,' 
279— English  policy  with  Turkey, 
280,  281— improvement  among  the 
Christians,  282-284— corruptioDS  of 
the  clergy,  285-287— the  BosniaM, 
287 — Christian  Bulgarians,  288-- 
Circassian  colonies,  289 — ffueosM  of 


INDEX  TO  VOL.  143. 


BoMia  pataeaauig  Balgana  and  the 
DardandleB.  300, 301— and  CoiuUd- 
tinople,  802,  303— necesBily  tot  flim    | 
diploma tio  prosiure,  308 — permanent 
KOTenunent  iu  the  proTincea,  308, 
809— ciril    aod   religioufl    equality, 
310— a  oode  of  lav,  310,  311— Barvey 
of  land  and  Bystem  of  taJtation,  311- — 
mixed  provincial  and  other  ooDuciU, 
312  —  gradual     disarmament,    ib.— 
England'H  inteieit  in  Turkey,  311. 
EtBotTO-biologieta,  100.  101. 
Xlnin,  BsT.  W., 'Works  of  Alexander 
Pope,'  S21— presumptive  evidenceon 
the  'Correipoudence'  between  Pope 
and  Swift,  323— on  tbe  -Kape  of  the 
Lock '  and  '  Epistle  of  Eloiea,'  314. 
Xhoandpation  Act,  the,  in  South  Africa, 

110. 
Eogltah  poller  in  Sonth  AAica,  lOS — 
the  Dutch  fanner  or  Boer,  107-109— 
6000  emigrants  aeiit  from  England, 
109 — miarepresenttttiona  of  the  mis- 
rionarieo,  i6. — revolt  of  the  Hotten- 
tots, and  dieappeaiaoce  of  the  whole 
race,  110— the  Kafirs,  110,  111— ini»- 
token  zeal  of  the  miutonariea,  111^ 
Lord  Gleneig's  policy,  112,  113— im- 
ntigration  of  the  Dutch  farmers,  114 
— the  Eaflrs  subdued,  116— convicts 
sent  to  the  Cape,  118,  119— third 
Kafir  war,  120-122-^BbandoumeDt  of 
the  Orange  Sovereignty,  123— articles 
of  the  Treaty,  124,  125— suppression 
of  slavery,  126 — the  Cape  Legiala- 
tnto,  127— Sir  P.  Wodehouse's  adiice 
disregarded,  12S,  129— the  Samtoe, 
131  —  dieoovery  of  the  Diamond 
Fields,  132, 1 33— interference  of  Bri- 
tish Government,  134-138— Water- 
beer's  territory,  136  —  controversy 
about  the  Diamond  Fitlds,  IBS- 
aepamte  goTemmeot  established,  139 
— boundary  lines,  HO — introduction 
of  fire-arma,  140,  141  — Lord  Car- 
uarvoQ  on  a  general  reviaion  of  the 
native  maaagement,  142— difficulties 
of  the  Transvaal,  144. 
'  Engliiih  Thought  in  the  Eighteenth 
Century,'  by  Le.Ue  Stephen,  404— 
•emi-rationaliaiug,  408— the  sceptical 
coxcomb,  409— leaning  to  party  poli- 
tics, 412— satiric  power  of  Swift.  413 
^Addison's  poliflhed  humour,  414 — - 
controversial  writings,  ib. — effect  of 
tlie  intense  and  subtle  hamour  of  the 
age,  415,  416— Johnson's  peraonality 
and   independence,   417  —  Wesley's 


enerey,  417-420— Boms,  420- re- 
awakening in  the  political  worM,  421. 
Eyre,  Bit  Vincent,  on  the  fear  of  Btu- 
siau  rale  in  mndostan,  568. 


Fielding  on  the  difierent  epochs  of 
English  poelij,  331— ■  weakness '  of 
bis  age.  410— the  free-thinkers,  415. 

Fislier,  Bishop  of  Boolieater,  14 — defence 

of  Catharine  of  Arsgon,  25. 
France,  gastronomical  science  in,  SSI 

— her   position   in  the   seventeenth 

centnry,  536. 


Clement, 

30— obtains  the  i .      , 

Gastronomy  in  America,  S80 — in  Bus- 

aia,  luly,  and  Turkey,  381. 
Genghis  Khan,  his  conquests,  466. 
Gibbon  on  eeepticiam,  410. 
Giberti,  Datano,  4—  appeals  to  Woliey 

to  unite  with  France  to  protect  Italy, 

8— supports  Henry  YIII.'b  Mose,  II. 
Gladstone's,    Hr.,    policy    for    Booth 

Africa,  138. 141. 
Qlenelg,  Lord,  mistaken  poUoy  with 

the  Kafirs,  112,  113. 
Golden  Horde,  the,  Barai,  the  palace  of, 

467~tlie  Khans  of,  168— death-blow 

toita  power,  469. 
Goodbll,  Dr.,  on  the  toleration  of  the 

TurkB.  576, 577. 
Gorman,   Dr.,   on  the    mixed   sherry 

brought  to  England,  399. 
GoufT^,  M,  Jules,  his  receipts  for  juli- 

erme,  384— plates  and  woodcuts,  885 

— grilling  apporutns,  886. 
Granville's.    Lord,   policy    for    Bouth 

Africa,  128,  129,  131. 
Greenland,  importance  of  proving  it  an 

island   162,  164. 
Grey's,  Lord,  policy  for  Sonth  Africa, 

115— sends  out  300  coDvictg,  118— 

propoeea    the   abandonment  of  the 

Orange  Sovereignty,  120. 
Griqna  Land  W<-et,  annexation  of  the, 

138— its  boundary  lines,  140. 
Orote,  Slr.and  Mrs.,  described  by  Har- 
riot HartineAn,  514,  515. 


Hachlsh  (Indian  bomp).  affect  of,  102. 

Hall,  CapUin,  of  the  •  Polaris,'  tablet 
orocted  to  his  memory  by  the  British 
Polar  Expedition.  IVU— his  previous 
life  among  the  Esquim«ux,  170, 171. 


604 


INDEX  TO  VOL.  143. 


Hamilton's,  Sir  W.,  disooyery  of  the 
method  of  Qaatemioiis,  99. 

Heine,  describes  George  Sand,  443. 

Henry  YIIL's  intimate  alliance  with 
the  Papacy,  3— demands  the  crown 
of  France,  6 — required  to  justify  his 
marriage  with  Catharine,  13 — ^sends 
Knight  with  secret  instructions  to 
Borne,  18— guided  by  Wolsey,  21 — 
his  attachment  to  Rome,  ib. — called 
'Defender  of  the  Faith,'  22  — his 
numerous  supporters,  23 — the  secret 
Bull  declaring  bis  marriage  invalid, 
35 — marriage  with  Anne  Boleyn,  36. 

Herbert  of  Lea,  Lady,  her  translation 
of  Baron  de  Hiibnei^s  work,  240. 

Hindostan,  position  of  England  in, 
566. 

Hintza,  chief  of  Gafifraria  Proper,  bis 
treachery  and  deatb.  111. 

Holidays,  religious,  in  Russia,  478 — 
effect  of,  on  agriculture,  ib. 

Holland,  its  resistance  of  French  pre- 
ponderance, 540. 

Holmes,  Mr.  Consul,  on  the  appoint- 
ment of  governors,  medjlisaes,  &o., 
in  Turkey,  593,  594. 

Hooker,  Dr.,  on  plants  living  in  almost 
total  darlmess,  181. 

Hottentot  police,  revolt  of,  120. 

Hiibner,  Baron,  ^Promenade  autour  du 
Monde,*  238— his  early  life,  240— 
characters  on  board  the  steamer, 
241,  242— icebergs,  tt.— fog,  243, 244 
— luxury  of  New  York,  244 — Ameri- 
can parcenus,  245 — its  exclusive  so- 
ciety, 246— Alabama  Treaty,  247— 
mania  for  titles,  248  —  civilities  on 
railroads,  248— Chicago,  249 — Gen. 
Sheridan,  250— hotel  life,  251— de- 
ference paid  to  women,  251,  252— 
Pullman  cars,  253— political  liberty, 
254—  Salt  Lake  City,  tb. — interview 
with  Brigham  Young.  259,  260  — 
Corinne,  260— Cayenne,  261— Cali- 
fornia, apologue  of  the  two  brothers, 
262— San  Francisco,  262-264  — the 
*  Big  Trees  *  of  Mariposa,  265— the 
Yoseinit«  valley,  266  —  voyage  to 
Japan,  267 — interview  with  the  Mi- 
kado, 269 — the  Samurais,  270 — Japa- 
nese women,  272— Shanghai,  273 — 
French  and  English  otticials,  ib. — 
Spanish  colonisation,  274  —  deca- 
dence in  the  Chinese. 

Hume's  scepticism,  416. 

I. 

Iceland  literature  compared  with 
Anglo-Saxon,  52,  53. 


Ignatieff^  Gen.,  object  of  his  nuftdon  to 

Constantinople,  294,  296. 
India,  progress  of  Islam  in,  235. 
Ireland,  ancient  literature  of,  53— the 

Wehrwolf  superstition,  63. 

J. 

Japan,  its  transition  state,  267 —legend 
of  'The  Forty-seven  Rdnins,  267- 
269— the  Mikado,  269— religion,  271 
— custom  of  married  women,  272. 

Jeffrey  and  Macaulay,  anecdote  of, 
488,  n. 

Johnson's,  Dr.,  'Life  of  Miltoo,'  193, 
194,  201— on  Pope  8  '  Essay  on  Mao,' 
346— his  strong  independence  and 
personality,  417. 

K. 

Kafir  Wars,  111,  116, 120, 121. 

Kafirs,  the,  outbreak  among,  in  1834, 
111— justified  by  Lord  Glenelg.ir2 
— outrages  on  the  settlers,  115— con- 
quered under  Sir  H.  Pottinger,  116. 

Kiev,  supremacy  of,  458,  463. 

Kinglake,  Mr.,  on  Lord  Pidmerstou's 
resignation  in  1853,  373— attack  on 
the  Prince  Consort,  375. 

Kitchen,  the,  and  the  Cellar,  379— 
gastronomlcal  science,  380,  381— in 
England,  382  —  English  restaura- 
teurs, 382, 383— cookiug  for  an  Eng- 
lish household,  383  ^jtdimne,  ^ 

—  use  of  herbs  and  vegetables,  384, 
385-388— grilling  apparatus,  38t>- 
the  salamander,  387 — Dutcher's  meat, 
i6.— game,  389— cheeses,  390,  391- 
importunce  of  cookery  in  education, 
393— a  royal  repast,  394— wines,  395 

—  cofl*ee,  400  —  tea-making,  401  — 
hours  for  meals,  402 — sauces,  403. 

Klepsan,   the  Irish   jester,   63— effect 

produced  by  his  skull,  64. 
Kok,  Adam,  the  Griqua  chief^  125. 

L. 

Langabalele,  in  Natal,  effect  of  intro- 
ducing firearms,  141. 

Layard,  Mr.,  a  fitting  representative  of 
British  policy  in  Turkey,  592,  593- 
his  special  qualifications  for  the  posi- 
tion, 597. 

Lowe's,  Mr.,  speech  at  Croydon,  527. 

M. 

Macaulay,  Lord,  *  Essay  on  Milton,' 
186— his  dazzling  style,  186,  187— 
rhetoric,  187— compares  Milton  and 
Dante,  187,    188  —  Boyalibts  with 


INDEX  TO  VOL.  143. 


605 


Puritans,  189  —  describes  Milton's 
temper,  189,  190— popularity  of  his 
writings,  190 — on  Fope,  324  —  on 
correctness  in  his  works,  329. 

Mac  Rustaing.  legend  of  his  grave,  64. 

Margaret,  Duohess  of  AleD90Q,  12 — 
tradition  of  her  becoming  Henry 
VIIL's  wife,  12. 

Martin,  Theodore,  on  Lord  Palmer- 
ston's  resi^iation  in  1853,  374,  375. 

Martinean,  Harriet,  her  autobiography, 
485 — descent  and  parentage,  486 — 
infantine  impressions,  487 — temper, 
488 — devotion  to  *  Paradise  Lost,'  ih. 
sense  of  smell  and  sight,  489 — ^theo- 
logical opinions,  ib. — first  appearance 
in  print,  490 — insanity  and  death  of 
her  betrothed,  490— first  attempt  at 
Political  Economy,  491 — interviews 
with  publishers,  492,  493—*  Illustra- 
tions of  Political  Economy,*  494 — 
criticised  in  the  *  Edinburgh  Review,' 
500 — her  charge  against  the  *  Quar- 
teriy,'  601.  502— difierence  with  the 

*  Times,*  502,  503-refuses  to  be  ac- 
quainted with  Moore,  503 — and  Ster- 
ling, 504 — *  Literary  Lionism,'  605— 
reasons  for  not  going  to  Lansdown 
House,  507  —  deafness,  509  —  de- 
scribes Brougham,  510— Jefl5«y,  511 
—Bishop  Stanley,  511,  612— Lady 
Stepney,  512,  513  —  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Grote,  514— Cariyle,  615,  516— visits 
the  United  States,  517 — *  Society  in 
America,*  518 — canvassing  reviewers, 
ib.  —  Murray's    refusal    to   publish 

*  Deerbrook,'  520,  521  —  her  illness, 
521 — 'Life  in  a  Sick-room,*  ib. — 

*  Letters  on  Mesmerism,'  522  —  ac- 
quaintance with  Mr.  Atkinson,  ib. — 
her  cottage  at  Ambleside,  523  — 
anecdote  of  Wordsworth,  ib. — journey 
to  the  East,  524 — declines  a  pension, 
525— ideas  upon  death,  ib. 

Memory,  instances  of,  94 — loss  of,  ib. — 
impaired  in  old  age,  95. 

•  Mental  Physiology,  Principles  of,*  by 
W.  B.  Carpenter,  83 — the  notion  of 
personality,  84  —  automatism,  86 — 
physical  and  moral  causation,  86 — 
the  Ego  J  86,  87 — afferent  and  efferent 
nerves,  88 — volitional  movement  in 
an  infant,  88 — secondary  automatism, 
89— co-operation  of  the  senses,  90 — 
reflex  movements,  91 — the  cerebrum 
of  man  compared  to  that  of  a  fish, 
91,  92 — radiating,  commissural  and 
intercerebral  fibres,  92,  93 — removal 
of  the  cerebrum  in  pigeons,  93 — me- 
mory, 94,  95  —  persistence  of  early 
impreflsions,  96 — *  UnoonBcioos  Cere- 


bration,' 97 — mental  processes,  98 — 
electro-biology,  100,  101— effect  of 
opium,  102— of  haohish,  ib, — case  of 
somnambuHsm,  102,  103. 

Merve,  opinions  on  its  importance  and 
natural  advantages,  560,  561. 

Midhat  Pasha  on  the  appointment  of 
Yalis  or  Governors  in  Ihirkey,  582 — 
on  Turkish  reforms,  584. 

Milton,  a  French  critic  on,  186 — Ma- 
caulay's  essay,  186-191 — his  temper, 
189— Addison's  criticisms,  191-193— 
Dr.  Johnson's,  193-194  —  M.  E. 
Scherer's,  194-201 — his  unfailing 
level  of  style,  231— pureness,  202, 203. 

Missionaries,  African,  misrepresenta- 
tions, 109 — mistaken  zeal,  111 — ^in- 
terference with  Sir  H.  Pottinger,  116. 

in  Turkey,  289,  290. 

Mohammed  and  Mohammedanism,  205 
— popular  misconceptions,  207 — his- 
tory, 208 — refinement  at  the  time  of 
the  Crusades,  209,  210  — the  Arab 
character,  211 — poetry,  212 — ^love  of 
liberty,  213— inhuman  practices,  214 
— ^idolatry,  ib. — early  life  of  Moham- 
med, 215— preaching,  216— flight  to 
Yathrib,217 — doctrine  and  morality, 
217,  218— rivals,  218,  219— rejected 
by  the  Jews,  219 — hatred  of  idolatry, 
221 — selection  of  names,  222— prayer, 
fasting,  almsgiving,  pilgrimages,  ib. 
—  circumcision,  223  —  influence  of 
the  Co'ran,  224-226  —  social  rela- 
tions, 226— slavery,  polygamy,  227 
— view  of  Paradise,  228— morality 
of  Islam,  229 — miracles,  prayer,  the 
Jehdd,  230,  231— spread  in  Africa, 
233 — ^social  equality,  ib. — suppres- 
sion of  drinking,  234 — progress  in 
India,  235. 

Montenegrins,  their  cruel  treatment  of 
Mussulmans,  289. 

More,  Sir  Thos.,  defence  of  Queen 
Catharine,  24. 

Mormonism,  256— definition  of  its  prin- 
ciples, 267 — subjection  of  the  com- 
munity, ib. — polygamy,  258. 

Moscow,  Princes  of,  their  influence  with 
the  TarUrs,  468,  469. 

Musset,  A.  de,  his  liaison  with  George 
Sand,  439. 

N. 

Nares,  Captain  Sir  G.,  on  the  paleo- 
crystio  ice  in  the  Polar  Sea,  163 — 
errors  of  the  American  charts,  173 
— ocean  currents,  179 — absence  of 
lime-juice  on  their  sledg^oumeys, 
182. 

Natali  114— the  Dutch  at,  115. 


606 


INDEX  TO  VOL.  143. 


Nestor,  an  early  Russian  chronicler, 
456~the  reign  of  Burik,  467. 

New  York,  exoesstve  luxury  in,  244 — 
mixed  character  of  its  population, 
246 — small  size  of  its  churches,  ib, 

Nicholas,  Czar,  his  policy  in  Turkey, 
291-297 — opposes  Protestant  schools, 
293 — his  object  in  sending  Gen.  Ig- 
natieff  to  Constantinople,  294 — Pan- 
slavist  agency,  295 — his  inflexible 
but  narrow-minded  self-will,  475. 

Norse  Mirror,  old,  of  Men  and  Manners, 
51 — the  'King's,  or  Royal , Mirror,' 
64 — plot,  56 — rules  for  the  conduct 
of  merchants,  57-59 — ^physical  pheno- 
mena, 59 — ^northern  wonders,  60-62 
— fish  in  Iceland,  64,  65 — ice  and 
fire,  hot  springs,  65 — earthquakes 
and  irruptions,  66 — Arctic  naviga- 
tion, 67 — ^icebergs,  68— whales,  seals, 
and  walrus,  68,  69 — ^northern  light, 
70 — court  manners,  71-76^-dress,  73 
— military  exercise  and  equipments, 
76-78  —  behaviour  to  women  and 
men,  79 — ^morality,  80 — quaint  epi- 
sode on  the  Fall,  80  —  scientiflo 
knowledge,  81. 

North-west  Passage,  the,  abandonment 
of,  167. 

Novgorod,  its  commercial  consequence, 
468 — virtual  independence,  464 — 
monument  to  celebrate  the  milleuary 
festival,  476. 

O. 

Ocadh,  annual  fair  at,  213. 

Ocean  currents,  physical  cause  of,  178. 

Opium,  effect  of,  102. 

Orange  River  sovereignty,  the,  114 — 
made  a  responsible  government  by 
England,  124,  125— war  with  the 
Basutos,  131 — possession  of  the  Dia- 
mond Fields  disputed,  134 — Water- 
boor's  territoiy,  138 — boundary  lines, 
189 — refuses  to  submit  to  the  go- 
vernor, 141  — receives  compensation 
for  the  Diamond  Fields,  143. 

P. 

Palcocrystic  Ice  described,  163. 

Palmerston,  Lord,  life  of,  3ijl — ^letter 
to  Lord  Clarendon  on  the  Christian 
subjects  in  Turkey,  807 — letter  to 
Lord  Norman  by,  3t)5 — to  Lord  Aber- 
deen, 370 — reasons  for  resigning,  372, 
373 — withdraws  his  objections,  377 
— ^restored  to  his  office,  378. 

Panstavist  agency  and  secret  societies 
in  European  Turkey,  295. 

Parr,  Commander,  his  heroism  for  the 
relief  of  his  sledge-party,  185. 


Pendulum,  effect  of  cold  on  the,  167. 
Peter  the   Great,  Western   inflaeoce 
first  brought  into  Russia  by  him, 
460 — ^his  so-called  reforms,  461— im- 
perial despotism,  475. 
•  Peter's  Pence '  in  Norway  and  Green- 
land, 59. 
Phillimore,  Sir  R.,  on  the  Balance  of 

Power  549. 
Poetry,  survey  of  English,  356-358. 
Poland,  its  partition  an  abuse  of  the 
doctrine  of  the  balance  of  power, 
544. 
'Polaris,'  expedition  of  the,  152— dis- 
astrous teimination,  153,  154. 
Pope,  Alexander,  *  Works  of,'  by  Bcv. 
W.  Elwin,  321  —  his  *  Correspond- 
enoe,'  323— character,  324— self-de- 
ception, 325,  n. — ^poetical  genias,  326 
—  correctness    and  delicacy  of  hi* 
taste,  327  —  appeal  to  George  IL, 
332—*  Essay  on  Criticism,'  333, 339, 
847 — original  character  of  his  poetry, 
335— fertility  of  his  invention,  33fr- 
adopts  the  eclogue  for  his  pastorals, 
837— 'Messiah,'   'Windsor  Forest,' 
338— « Rape  of  the  Lock,'  339-341- 
the  'Dunciad,'  341,  342— *  Epistle 
of   Eloisa    to    Abelard,'  342-344- 
*  Essay  on  Man,'  345, 848— compswd 
with  Dryden,   346.  353-355-judg- 
ment  and  good    sense,  846,  347— 
opinions  on  the  correctness  of  his 
language,  348,  349,  355— its  varied 
excellence,  350-352 — inventiye  turn 
of  his  satire,  351— filial  piety,  352 
— ^number  of  his  editors,  356— his 
nature  and  conmion-sense,  358,  359 
—  enduring    reputation,    359  —  on 
roasting  coffee,  401. 
Porter,  Prof,  on  the  lives  and  property 

of  Christians  in  Turkey,  577. 
Pretorius,    the    leader  i)f    the    South 
African    Republic,  117 — oonventioa 
with  England,  122. 
Protocol,  origin  of  the  word,  574.  n.— 
its  policy,  574 — Count  Schouvidoffs 
neutralising  declaration,  574,  580. 
Pullman,    Mr.,    described    by    Baron 

Hubner,  253. 
Puritanism,  formalising  effect  of,  411. 

Q. 

Quetta,  its  occupation  by  a  British 
force  advocated  by  Gen.  Jacob,  5G9 — 
its  disadvantages,  571. 

R. 

Ralston,  W.  R.  S.,  early  Russian  his- 
tory, 470  —  political  servility  in 
Russia,  471— on  serfdom,  473, 


INDEX  TO  VOL.  143. 


607 


*  Rape  of  the  Look,'  the,  its  origin  and 

success,  339,  340-— humour,  341. 
Segalia,  the  Russian,  preserved  in  the 

Treasury  at  Moscow,  462. 
Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  on  the  limits  of 
painting,  829 — on  imitation,  335 — 
the  careful  study  of  the  works  of  the 
ancients,  336. 
Robeson,  Mr.,  on  military  discipline  in 

dangerous  expeditions,  152. 
Ronins,    the   Forty-seven,  legend   o^ 

267-269. 
Rus,  origin  of  the  name,  457. 
*  Russia,*  by  D.  M.  Wallace,  449— his- 
torical development  of,  452-— material 
vastness,  453T-growth  of  its  mon- 
archy, 454  —  the  Slavs,  455 — ani- 
mosity between   the  Russians  and 
the  Poles,  456 — supremacy  of  Kiev, 
commercial    consequence    of   Nov- 
gorod, 458  —  early  attacks  on  Con- 
stantinople, 459 — Tartar  domination, 
467, 468— the  Muscovite  princes,  468, 
469— her  greatness  purchased  at  the 
cost  of  agricultural  industry,  476 — 
population  compared  with  England, 
ib. — devotion  of  the  peasantry  to  the 
Tsar,  477 — ^niunber  of  religious  holi- 
days, 478  —  decline  of  religion,  in- 
crease of  drunkenness   and   immo- 
rality,   478,    479  — neglect  of  the 
I    clergy,  480— indifference  of  the  pea- 
sants, 481 — state  of  education  and 
the  Zemstvo   schools,  481  —  social 
severance   between   proprietor   and 
peasant,  482 — drunkenness  of  the 
clergy,  483. 

• ,  military  position  oC  in  Central 

Asia,  551 — progress  and  conquests, 
553— vast  extent  of  country  absorbed, 
554 — sparse  population,  tb. — cold  of 
the  Kirghis  desert,  555— heat,  556 — 
elaborate  precautions  for  the  Khivan 
campaign,  557 — Military  force,  558 — 
financial  position,  559 — importance  of 
Mcrve,  561 — various  rout^  to  India, 
563 — general  conclusions,  571. 
Russian  policy  in  Turkey,  292-295. 


8. 


Safvet  Pasha,  on  the  appointment  of 
governors  in  Turkey,  582,  583. 

Sainte-Beuve,  influence  of  his  friend- 
ship with  George  Stmd,  438. 

Salt  Lake  City,  254— emigration  to, 
255 — missionaries,  256 — ^number  of 
children,  260. 

Sand,  George,  * Hittoire  de  ma  Vie' 
423 — ^her  enduring  fame,  424 — ^par- 


entage,  426,  427  —  development  of 
her  genius,  428— at  Nohant,  429 — 
*Mouny  Robin,'  430  — first  efforts 
in   prose,   431  —  scepticism,   432  — 
marriage,  ib. —  goes   to   Paris    and 
sulopts  the  student's  dress,  433  — 
'Rose  et  Blanche*  434— '  Jitdfano,' 
435—*  lAUa;  435-437— faults.  437—. 
* Lettree  a  Mareie'  438 — influence  of 
SainteBeuve,  ib. — liaison  with  Alfred 
de  Musset,  439 — stay  in  Italy,  ib. — 
connection  with  M.  de  Bourges,  440 
— her  political  frenzy,  ib. — relations 
with  Chopin,  441 — ^religious  specu- 
lations, 442 — want  of  humour  in 
her  writings,  443 — *  Consuelo,'  ib. — 
stories  of  peasant  life,  her  *  Bergeries* 
444,  445  — *  Jeanne,'   '  Maltree  Son- 
neuTB*  445 — retires  to  Nohant.  446 
— fertility  as  a  writer,  447 — defect 
in  her  personal  character,  ib, — mdm 
of  her  old  age,  449. 
San  Francisco,  its  pioneers,  261 — the 
Califomian    fever,  262  —  vigilance 
committee,263— climate  and  fertility, 
264. 
Sarai,  founded  by  Batu,  467 — ^its  dis- 
covery in  1840,  ib. 
Scherer,  E.,  *£3say  on  Milton,'  194— 
appreciation  of  his  prose  works,  195- 
197— the  'Allegro,'  197— *  Paradise 
Lost,'  198-201. 
Schools  in  Russia,  481. 
Schuyler,  E.,  *  Turkistan,'  556— on  the 
financial  position  of  the  Russian  pos- 
sessions in  Central  Asia,  558. 
Serfs,  emancipation    of   the   Russian, 
475,  477 — social  severance  between 
proprietor  and  peasant,  482. 
Shanghai,  273 — English  and  French 

officials  compared,  273,  274. 
Shelley,  Sir  R.,  his  history  of  Henry 

Vin.'s  divorce,  47. 
Sheridan,  Gen.,  described   by  Baron 

Hubner,  250. 
Sherry,  letter  from   an  ex-wine-mer- 
chant, 397 — ^report  upon,  by  Dr.  Gor- 
man, 399. 
Slavonians,  th^ir  social  state,  455. 
Slavophils,  the,  their  doctrine  described 

by  Mr.  Wallace,  460-482. 
Slavs,  the,  origin  of  the  word,  454. 
Smith,  R.  Bosworth, '  Mohammed  and 
Mohammedanism,'  206  —  his  toler- 
ance, 207 — account  of  its  marvellous 
history,  208 — defence  of  its  doctrine, 
210,  2il — apology  for  the  morality  of 
Islam,  229. 
Somnambulism,  instance  of,  102. 
Song  of  Solomon,  its  resemblance  to  an 
Arabic  ode^  212. 


608 


INDEX  TO  VOL.  143. 


Spanish  oolcmiflation  compared  with 
other  nations,  274. 

Stanley,  Bishop,  described  by  B[arriet 
Martineau,  511. 

Stephenson,  Captain,  report  on  the 
Arctic  expedition,  167-169. 

Sterne's  contemptuons  sufferance  of  the 
Free-thinkers,  415— his  pathos,  416. 

Strangford,  Viscount,  on  the  steppe 
and  desert  in  Cential  Asia,  558. 

Sully  on  the  standing  policy  of  France 
and  Europe,  537 — ^practical  expres- 
sion under  Bichelien,  589. 

Swift's  anger  at  the  affectation  of  cox- 
combs, 410 — ^literary  coatroversy  and 
satiric  power,  413,  414. 


T. 

Talleyrand's  period  of  literary  reserve 
for  political  memoirs,  361. 

Tartar,  its  orthography,  465— domina- 
tion in  Russia,  467— its  results,  472. 

Taylor,  Jeremy,  religious  fervour  of 
his  writings,  410. 

Tea-houses  fbr  droshky  drivers  in  St. 
Petersburg,  401. 

Thackeray  on  Oeorge  Sand,  448. 

Thomson's  idea  of  the  *  Seasons '  sug- 
gested by  Pope's  *  Pastorals,'  338. 

Todd,  Dr.,  on  Irish  literature,  53. 

Transvaal,  the,  trade  in  native  chil- 
dren, 126— gold  reefs,  132. 

Turkey,  improvement  and  social  con- 
dition of  Christians  in,  282 — grie- 
vances, 283  —  exemption  from  con- 
scription, 284,  578  —  ignorance  and 
corruption  of  the  clergy,  285,  286 
—  general  character  of  Ottoman 
rule,  575 — ^the  Greek  clergy,  576 — 
lives  and  property  of  Christians,  576- 
578 — the  Corrce,  578 — no  genuine 
care  on  the  part  of  Russia,  579 — 
proposed  veto  on  the  appointment  of 
governors,  682,  583 — the  new  legis- 
lation, 583 — renovated  energy  of  the 
government,  584 — policy  of  Europe 
towards  Ottoman  Empire,  586 — re- 
solute maintenance  of  its  intepjrity 
and  independence,  588 — present  po- 
sition as  regards  Europe,  690,  591 — 
corrupt  choice  of  governors,  591 — a 
war  of  aggression  condemned,  599. 


W. 

Warton's  'Eseay  on  the  Genius  and 
Writings  of  Pope,'  825— on  the  cor- 
rectness of  his  works,  327. 

Wehrwolf  superstition,  the,  origin  of, 
in  Ireland,  63. 

Wesley's  energy  and  activity,  417— 
High  Church  doctrine,  418— influ- 
ence as  founder  of  a  sect,  419. 

Whately,  Bishop,  described  by  Harriet 
Martmeau,  511. 

Wines,  red,  temperature  of,  for  drink- 
ing, 395. 

Wingfield,  Sir  C,  on  Russian  intrigue 
in  Hindostan,  567 — our  true  policy 
with  Afghanistan,  571. 

Wodehouse,  Sir  P.,  his  ability  and 
experience  disregarded,  128  —  wi?e 
policy  with  the  Orange  Free  State, 
132— the  Diamond  Fields,  134. 

Wolsey,  and  the  divorce  of  Henry 
VHL,  1 — appointed  Pope's  legate, 
3 — disappointment,  4— exacts  a  sum 
of  money  from  France,  6- — detested 
by  the  whole  nation,  7 — unit^  witli 
France  for  the  protection  of  Italy,  S 
— summons  Henry  to  justify  his  mar- 
riage with  his  brother's  wife,  13 — 
embassy  to  France,  15 — offered  a 
bribe  by  the  Emperor  to  relinquish 
his  connection  with  France,  16 — 
declines  to  act  without  the  cogni- 
sance of  Rome,  17 — endeavours  to 
transfer  the  responsibility,  19— 
sends  Gardiner  to  Rome,  29 — pro- 
posals to  the  Pope,  39 — regiirde<l  as 
an  antipope  by  Clement,  41 — con- 
temporary testimony  against  him,  40, 
47 — integrity,  49 — persecutions,  50. 

Wood,  Major,  *  Shores  of  the  Lake 
AraV  554— -on  the  population  of  Cen- 
tral Asia,  555. 

Wordsworth,  anecdote  of,  by  Harriet 
Martineau,  523. 


Y. 

Yosemite  valley,  the.  266. 
Younjj,  Captain  A.,  his  Arctic  explora- 
tions, 157,  158. 


END  OF  THE  HUNDRED  AND  FORTY-THIRD  VOLUME. 


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